Speechless
by RedGrayBall
Summary: House is slowly realizing he has something to say to Cameron, but when the time comes he may find himself unable to speak.
1. Chapter 1

**Trying something a little different this time. I have only a vague idea of how this will go, but it should be interesting to see how it turns out (I believe in letting the _story_ tell the _author_ what happens, not vice versa).**

**The idea is to explore how House would cope if he finally decided he had something to say to Cameron, but was temporarily unable - physically - to say it. It won't be as straightforward as in _Opening Doors_, that's for sure. But we'll get them there in the end. ;)  
**

**Please review; your kind words of encouragement are what keep me writing!**

**Regards,  
-RGB **

* * *

Silence reigned in the corridor leading to the radiology department, but House stood and listened intently.

_One more hour_, he thought. _Just sixty minutes. Or maybe fifty._

If he could continue to evade Cuddy for just a little longer, she'd give up on chasing him for the two remaining hours of clinic duty he was meant to complete today, and he'd be free for the weekend.

He knew she was out on the prowl, trying to find him; he'd seen her several times during the course of the afternoon. He wasn't about to let her catch him now. He was near to one of the labs, and was sizing it up as a hiding place when faintly, from further down the corridor and around a corner, he heard the sound of a door opening. He froze, except for a small grin springing onto his face. This was kind of fun.

A pause; silence again. Then, an unmistakable sound: the distinctive _tak-tak-tak_ of a woman's high heeled shoes echoing down the hallway. Very quietly, House crept into the lab, and stood just around the corner inside the doorway.

The heels were coming closer, but hadn't quite reached this part of the corridor when they stopped. Suddenly, he heard a sigh of frustration which his mind identified effortlessly.

_That's Cameron_, he thought, and leaned his head around the edge of the doorway.

"You get to hide next," he said, and Cameron gasped in fright, almost dropping the case file she was holding.

"What are you _doing_?" she scowled, flushed and irritated at having been frightened, and House stepped fully into the doorway, looking at her appraisingly.

"Clinic duty," he said, glancing briefly up and down the corridor, and she sighed once again. He could be such a child at times. She shook her head and then held up the case file.

"Well while you were hiding, our patient was discharged," she said. "I just need your signature on these notes. I can't believe I've had to search _three floors_ for you."

He smirked, raising his hand to reach for the file. "No-one said practicing medicine was easy," he began, but the sentence was never finished. Another door, much closer this time, had just been opened around another corner further up the corridor, and this time the sound of heels was a furious staccato. Cuddy would be here in moments.

In a single, smooth movement which belied his usual awkward gait, House grabbed Cameron by the shoulders and pulled her into the lab room and around the corner of the door-frame. A bookcase lay just inside the room, and before she knew what had happened her back was up against it and House was pressed against her, his hands still on the sides of her shoulders.

"_Shh!_" he whispered almost silently and with a glint of boyish excitement in his eyes, but the instruction was unnecessary. She was far too shocked to utter a sound.

She couldn't help but glance briefly towards the doorway as she heard someone, almost certainly Cuddy, approaching rapidly, but when she then looked up at House's face she saw that his eyes were squeezed shut and he was grinning devilishly.

She mirrored the grin involuntarily, and felt a shiver of excitement chase through her. For all the frustration it caused her on an almost daily basis, she had to admit to finding his mile-wide mischievous streak incredibly attractive. He was both brilliant and wounded in equal measure, but there was a large part of him which would always be some mixture of a five-year-old and a sixteen-year-old. The fact that he'd not lost his impishness despite everything that had happened to him was something she had pondered many times, and it was also perhaps his best quality.

_And there are plenty to choose from_, she thought, and immediately blushed and looked away.

Cuddy's footsteps had passed the room without slowing, and were now receding. She felt his grip on her shoulders loosen slightly, but he didn't release her. She risked another glance up at him, and saw that his eyes were once again open.

He was looking towards the doorway with a smirk on his face, still listening to the ever more quiet tapping of Cuddy's footsteps, which were now becoming very faint. His face was lit only by reflected light from the corridor and the criss-crossing glow of the many machines in the room, and in this subdued atmosphere she thought that his eyes were the color of the ocean at dusk.

Another small shiver. Another slight blush.

"That was a close one," House said quietly, still looking towards the corridor. When Cameron didn't respond, he turned his head towards her and met her eyes. A declaration of triumph vanished from his lips without being spoken.

Her face was only inches away, and his eyes automatically moved to record every detail. Her large green eyes, angled up towards him, sparkled in the reflected glow of the machinery in the lab. Her hair seemed to take on fiery highlights which flowed downwards, framing her face and then tumbling over the small, round shoulders his hands still loosely grasped. He became very aware of her lips, which seemed almost to shine with a light source of their own.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful.

Cameron saw House look down at her and open his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly as they roamed over her face; her eyes, her hair, her lips. The small crease in the center of his brow which was usually visible above his eyebrows had vanished. His eyes came to rest upon hers once again, and she saw his pupils dilate.

_What's going on?_ she thought, and her heart quickened.

_What the hell is this?_ he thought, and he dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back, his eyes flicking down towards the floor.

There was a long moment of silence, throughout which he could hear both her breathing and his own. Both were faster than normal. At last, he spoke.

"If you've got a pen, I'll sign that now," he said, and she looked momentarily confused before realizing he was talking about the file. She handed it to him along with a pen from her lab coat, and his eyes lingered on her for an instant longer than usual before his head turned down towards the file in his hands.

Cameron was frowning. She had no idea what had happened - or almost happened - but that had been a very _un-House_ look. From any other man, it would have meant... but that didn't bear thinking about. She brushed her hair back from her face nervously.

House signed the case report and flipped the folder closed before handing it back to her. There was another moment of silence before he turned and walked out into the corridor, and Cameron followed close behind. She was both glad and disappointed to be back in a well-lit area. Standing out here, the moment in the darkened lab barely seemed real.

_But it was_, she thought. And she knew she'd be thinking about it for the entire weekend, even though he had probably already dismissed it. _Damn him for doing this to me again_, she thought, suddenly angry.

"You don't usually work this hard to avoid the clinic," she said, and he was surprised by the coldness in her voice. He regarded her for a moment with a small frown, then took a breath and reached into his jacket pocket, producing a colorfully printed slim piece of card.

"Swan Song are playing tonight. Don't want to be late," he said by way of explanation, and she raised one eyebrow.

He shook his head in a show of exasperation, but a small grin curled the corners of his mouth.

"_Girls_," he sighed. "They're a Led Zep tribute band. Remind me to give you my music lecture sometime."

She snorted a small laugh, but after a moment she frowned. _Only one ticket?_ she thought. That wasn't like him.

"Wilson's economizing," House said, easily guessing her train of thought. "I sold his ticket on eBay."

She nodded, feeling somewhat ashamed for her sudden anger at him. He was going to a concert on a Friday night on his own, and she wished that Wilson had been able to go with him. A small voice from the back of her mind remarked that House would no doubt berate her for her pathological empathy once again, but she didn't care. She couldn't help how she felt.

House saw the echo of pity on her face, and was suddenly uncomfortable. He was unsure what had happened a few minutes ago in the darkened lab, but he did know that he didn't like it.

_Just caught up in the moment_, he rationalized, and that seemed eminently reasonable. The tension of suddenly having to hide, then finding himself in close proximity to her; it was all understandable. It meant nothing at all, and that was exactly how it should be.

All the same, it was time to be on his way. He slipped the ticket back into his jacket pocket.

_Still got about 55 minutes to kill_, he thought, and tapped his cane against the floor twice.

"See you Monday," he said, and began to turn to leave.

"Have a good time tonight," she said earnestly, and he glanced at her, once again holding her gaze for a long moment. She wore a timid smile and her eyes were apologetic.

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied, and limped off.

Cameron stood and watched him moving away down the corridor. He started whistling, and she recognized the tune as the theme from _The Great Escape_. She smiled and shook her head. He was the one man she'd met who could still consistently manage to surprise her on almost a daily basis. She didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse, but it fascinated her. _He_ fascinated her. And she was sure that she'd seen a fleeting glimpse of a deep loneliness on his face just as he had turned away.

Her smile faded. She watched him disappear around the corner at the other end of the corridor and heard him go through a door, and then she was alone. She stood there for almost half a minute before turning and heading for the door Cuddy had earlier entered through.

She knew it was a trick of her mind, and that it raised questions she had lately preferred to avoid acknowledging, but she swore she could still feel the warmth of his hands clasping her shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the initial round of reviews, folks; keep them coming! I've got a better idea of where the story is going now. Bear with me through this chapter; we're really only getting started.**

**Cheers,  
-RGB **

* * *

House managed to evade Cuddy for the brief remainder of the afternoon, and by 5:05 pm he was safely on his bike and heading home. Traffic was moderate and he was making good time, allowing his mind to once again replay the moment with Cameron in the lab earlier. 

He was attracted to her, certainly, but then that was like saying that the ocean was wet. It was true, but it was a trivial, inconsequential thing. He'd even once told her that he hired her specifically _because_ she was attractive. He smirked at the memory of the expression on her face when he'd said it.

_But today it wasn't inconsequential_, he thought, his smirk fading to be replaced by a frown.

He'd been very careful to keep Cameron at arm's length, especially after it had become clear that she had feelings for him. Not because she was significantly younger, nor because she was his subordinate. It wasn't even because she seemed so desperate to try, and fail, to fix him. It was just -

_Safer this way_, he thought. _Because they leave_.

This train of thought had already gone far enough, and perhaps too far. He twisted the bike's throttle and allowed his mind to become blank, focusing only on the ebb and flow of traffic and the roar of the engine beneath him.

* * *

Cameron's forehead was slightly creased as she puttered around in her apartment's kitchen, making herself dinner. She had hung around in the conference room for twenty minutes after her usual going-home time, but House hadn't made an appearance. That wasn't surprising in itself - he often took his jacket and rucksack and stashed them elsewhere in the hospital so he could make a quick getaway at the end of the day - but she was disappointed not to have seen him again. 

She wasn't exactly sure what she would have done if she'd bumped into him again; not even sure if she would have spoken to him. But she was intensely curious about what had happened in the lab.

Try as she might, she had never been able to completely give up on him. He had always professed no interest in her, but his occasional glances, his body language in unguarded moments, his behavior towards her; those all indicated otherwise, though only vaguely. It was like he was either holding himself back, which didn't make sense because she had made it abundantly clear that she'd like to pursue a relationship with him, or that he was in denial about whatever it was he felt for her.

_Maybe that was what I'd have done_, she thought. _Tried to... provoke him again_. Her lips curled into a small smile. It had certainly worked when she wore the red dress, and that hadn't even been completely intentional.

She sighed and shook her head. How typical for something like this to happen right before the weekend, when she'd have plenty of time to brood unproductively about it.

For perhaps the fourth time that evening, she once again felt the urge to just drive over to his place and ask him about it, and she once again suppressed that urge since (1) he was out at the concert, and (2) it would seem a little crazy. Because it _was_ a little crazy, she reminded herself. And he would just deny that anything had happened anyway.

She sighed yet again. She was frowning now.

_Just have to wait and see what happens on Monday_, she thought, and returned her attention to making dinner.

* * *

House made it to the concert with ample time to spare, and successfully used a combination of rudeness and the cultivation of pity and/or shame in others to secure an excellent vantage point. He had felt slightly uncomfortable at first being there on his own, but it quickly passed. By the time Swan Song were into their second number, he was unselfconsciously singing along at full volume, occasionally playing guitar on his cane. 

His mind was blissfully free of any other concerns for most of the night, with one brief exception. The singer was introducing the next song, and remarked on the number of Led Zeppelin tracks with the word 'love' in the title. Immediately, and completely unbidden, the image of Cameron's face in the exotic lighting of the lab rose up in his memory.

_God damn it_, he thought, frowning. He had sworn that he was done thinking about that. House deliberately put additional weight onto his right leg, and it obligingly produced a bolt of pain. The image in his mind dissolved instantly.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he took out the small plastic container of Vicodin, popped it open in a well-practiced movement and shook a pill into the palm of his hand. He returned the container to his pocket and dry-swallowed the pill. Again, Cameron's face appeared in his mind's eye, and this time it held the characteristic mixture of disapproval and sympathy which she always displayed when she saw him take the drug.

"Enough already," he scowled, but his voice was lost in the noise of the crowd. He began to forcefully tap his cane in time to the music, and after a determined few minutes, her face was once again temporarily forgotten.

* * *

Just over two hours later, House pushed through the throng of people slowly filing out of the venue, occasionally calling out "Cripple coming through!", and managed to make it out to the parking lot ahead of the bulk of the crowd. He limped purposefully to the row where his bike was parked, and wasted no time in leaving. A delay of only a couple of minutes now could mean being caught in a tailback for half an hour or more. 

The growl of the Honda's engine was already beginning to fade into the distance as the first of the other audience-members were just unlocking their cars.

The breeze around his neck was refreshing after being indoors with so many people. It was almost 10:30 pm and he wanted nothing more than to get home, pour a glass of scotch, and unwind. He frowned as he swallowed; his throat felt raw, no doubt from his increasingly enthusiastic singing (and often just shouting) during the gig.

_Nothing a little whisky won't fix_, he thought, and increased the bike's speed just a little more.

* * *

It was almost eleven, and Cameron was feeling pleasantly tipsy. Dinner had been good, and afterwards she had opened a bottle of wine, which was now only around half full. The TV was on, but the volume was low and she hadn't been paying attention to it for quite some time. 

_He'll probably be home by now_, she thought. She briefly imagined going over there again, but she was still sober enough to realize how terrible an idea that actually was. Not only would it mean two cab-fares for the round trip, but she was also slightly inebriated. At best, he would laugh at her and just confuse things even further, and she'd never hear the end of it at work.

She realized all this on an intellectual level, but the alcohol was a potent source of courage. All the same, she certainly wasn't going anywhere near his apartment.

_Maybe I should call him_, she thought, weighing up the pros and cons. She could just ask if he'd enjoyed the concert. That was innocent enough, and plausibly something she'd do, especially since he'd been there on his own. She was maybe even the only one other than Wilson who knew about it.

That settled it. She picked up her cellphone, selected '_House_' from the list, and pressed Call.

* * *

House was halfway through his second drink and deep in thought when his cellphone began to ring. 

_Jimmy must be feeling guilty_, he thought, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, which was draped over the back of the couch beside him.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise as looked at the small screen on the front of the phone. Where he would have expected it to display '_Wilson_', it instead showed '_Cameron_'. He frowned, momentarily debating whether to answer, and then flipped the phone open.

"I'm off duty," he said, and immediately grimaced. His throat felt very raspy now, and it was moderately painful to talk. His voice sounded like he'd had the flu for about a week.

"Are you ok?" Cameron asked, suddenly concerned. "You don't sound too good."

"You never sang at a concert before? I'll be fine," he croaked, and her eyebrows shot up at the idea of it. House, of all people, singing along.

She frowned; this was an unexpected roadblock. She couldn't really keep him on the phone if his throat was sore.

"Well, I just wanted to see if you enjoyed yourself," she said after a moment. "I guess you did."

He could hear the smile in her voice, and he thought he could also hear the distinctive softness which indicated he wasn't the only one who had had a drink tonight.

_She called about what happened today_, he realized. And now she couldn't reasonably ask about it because he could barely speak. The corner of his mouth twitched in preparation to grin, but the grin never appeared. His hoarseness was a lucky escape. So why was he disappointed? He frowned.

"Not a bad night," he confirmed. "But I can't really talk right now." He swallowed painfully, then took another sip of his drink.

"Of course," she said, in a small voice, and he felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest.

_Guilt_, his mind supplied, and his brow creased even further. He was angry with himself, but he didn't understand why. And he didn't enjoy being unable to understand his own reactions.

"Drink some hot lemon if you have any," she said kindly. "Works wonders. And get some rest."

He opened his mouth to say "_Hey, what are the odds? I'm actually a doctor too_," but he swallowed the jibe before uttering it.

"Planning to," he croaked instead, and sighed. "And scotch works even better."

Cameron sighed, but took this as her cue to get off the phone.

"Have a good weekend, House," she said, and he could hear in her voice that she meant it.

He didn't immediately reply. A large part of him wanted her to get the hell off the phone and leave him in peace. It was the weekend, they had no case at the moment, and she was invading his privacy. That was what he thought of as a _normal_ reaction; the one he'd always been very careful to cultivate. She should have known by now that such intrusions were unwelcome.

_But not from where I'm sitting_, his mind whispered, and he scowled at the traitorous voice. That was not an acceptable point of view. It was foolish, it was risky, and it was... pointless. But was it true nonetheless?

He sensed that she was about to hang up the phone.

"Cameron?" he began, speaking very quietly now.

"Yes?" she replied, and he was suddenly certain that she was holding her breath. He paused, fumbling for words but not able to even make sense of his own thoughts.

"Have a good weekend," he sighed lamely, and hung up.

* * *

Cameron put her cellphone down on the coffee table carefully, as if it was it was a dangerous creature which might sting if provoked. 

It had been in his voice, or rather in his _silence_, this time instead of in his eyes, but it had been the same thing; she was sure of it. He had seemed... hesitant. Hesitant, but also perhaps confused? Or surprised?

She frowned and shook her head; her mind was slightly fuzzy from the wine, and she was suddenly furious with herself for not having a clear head. Instead of clarifying what happened in the lab, the phonecall had only served to further muddy the waters. She was even more curious now than she had been a few hours ago, but there was absolutely nothing for it.

She folded her arms and sat back on the couch, still frowning. It _hadn't_ been her imagination. It was late and she was tired, and she'd even had a few drinks, but it wasn't just all in her mind. She shivered pleasantly as she recalled the expression on his face in the lab earlier, and she drew her arms tighter around herself.

_We're not just forgetting this, House_, she thought. _Not this time._

* * *

House rubbed his temples and yawned. His cellphone lay forgotten at the opposite corner of the couch, having been tossed there with unnecessary force after he'd ended the call. 

He still had no idea what he'd been going to say to her, despite having thought carefully about it for the last few minutes.

_It's late_, he thought.

That wasn't particularly true, but it was sufficiently true to be useful in this context. It was more-or-less late, he was tired, and his throat was raw. Add in the fact that his leg was never completely quiet, and that he'd had a couple of drinks, and it wasn't difficult to see what had happened here.

_So I got lonely_, he thought. _Big deal._

She'd still been in his mind from the lab earlier, and she _had_ been beautiful; no question about it. Then he'd gone to a concert alone because Wilson couldn't justify the cost of the ticket, and then he'd had a couple of drinks. She chose that moment to call, and he'd been glad to hear her voice. That was completely and utterly normal.

_Normal and also insignificant_, he thought, nodding without being aware he was doing so.

The voice of his thoughts was strong and steady even if his actual voice wasn't a hundred percent functional right now. But didn't he hear a subtle edge of desperation in that voice? A desire to justify and to rationalize, rather than to actually explain?

_Nope_, he thought, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure at all, and that could conceivably be a problem.

He sighed, reaching for his drink. He watched the amber liquid swirl between the small islands of ice, and the trail of reflected light reminded him of her hair.

He shook his head, and drained the glass in a single gulp.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, this was a relatively long one. I'm trying not to rush the story, and I put a fair bit of effort into trying to capture House's character; let me know how I'm doing. And please keep those reviews coming if you enjoy what you've read - fingers crossed!**

**Cheers,  
-RGB**

* * *

House was dragged unwillingly from his dream (where he was conducting a differential diagnosis with a squabbling Jimmy Page and Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin, while Wilson looked on) by the sound of knocking at his front door. He groaned, frowning as he swung his feet out of bed and reached for his cane. 

He had made it out of his bedroom and halfway down the corridor towards the living room when the knock came again, louder this time.

"There are no Jews here," he called, increasing his pace as much as his leg would permit.

"Unless Wilson already snuck in," he snidely added as an afterthought just as he reached the door. His voice sounded even worse than last night, and had lost most of its normal volume.

He opened the door and was surprised to see Cameron standing there, smiling cautiously and holding a small brown paper bag.

"Hi," she said brightly, her smile widening slightly. She saw that he was wearing one of his nondescript black rock t-shirts and a pair of pajama trousers, and he was barefoot. He was also frowning.

"Oh. Did I... wake you?" she asked apologetically, her smile being replaced with a pained expression. She had just assumed he would be up by now; it was almost 11 am.

"_Yes_," he rasped, and then coughed, massaging his throat with his fingertips.

"Sorry," she said, then held up the paper bag. "I brought you some hot lemon, though."

House sighed, inwardly grinning slightly despite his annoyance and discomfort. This was just such a _Cameron_ thing to do. After a moment, he shrugged and took a step back to allow her to come in, closing the door behind her.

"_Kitchen's that way_," he croaked, pointing with his cane. She looked momentarily surprised, and then nodded.

_Of course he wants me to make it for him_, she thought with a small smile. _Just like his coffee at work._

She moved to walk through to the kitchen, but felt his cane tap her on the arm, and she glanced back.

"_Make coffee too_," he said with great difficulty, and she grinned widely at him.

He was caught off-guard and found himself beginning to grin in return before he forcibly straightened his face and simply raised an eyebrow instead. Cameron shook her head, still grinning, and went through to the kitchen.

House remained standing in the middle of the living room for a moment until he heard her filling the kettle, then he set off down the corridor to the bedroom. For reasons which were unclear to him, he wanted to change.

* * *

Cameron had peeked her head out of the kitchen whilst the coffee was brewing to see what House was up to, but the living room was empty. She then heard the sound of a shower being switched on from somewhere towards the rear of the apartment, and she withdrew into the kitchen once again, blushing slightly. 

She had been having breakfast that morning when she had hit upon the idea of taking him something to ease his laryngitis. It was exactly what a concerned colleague would do, especially one who would suffer the consequences of his mood when Monday arrived. She had refused to even consider the possibility that her visit would be for anything but altruistic reasons, and had quickly finished her breakfast before she could change her mind.

The shower had gone off a few minutes ago, and she heard a door open, followed by the unmistakable step-thump of House making his way down the corridor. She poured two cups of coffee, smiling again at the fact that he'd bought the same brand she brewed every morning at the hospital, and then poured hot water into a third mug which contained the powdered lemon drink.

House appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, and inhaled the coffee aroma appreciatively.

"This first," Cameron said, handing him the mug of hot lemon, and she smiled as he wrinkled his nose at the bitterly artificial smell of it. He accepted it nevertheless, and went through to the living room, Cameron following close behind with the two mugs of coffee.

He nodded towards the couch - _Have a seat_ - and was about to join her when he saw the light on his answering machine flashing.

Cameron watched as he limped over to the machine and pressed a button, and they both heard a crisp beep followed by Wilson's voice.

"_Aren't you awake yet? It's ten o'clock on a Saturday morning._" A pause, then a sigh. "_I guess not. Well, I hope you enjoyed the concert last night. Sorry again that I couldn't make it. There's a hockey game on later if you're interested; I could come over. Let me know._" A click, and then a brief dial-tone before the machine had automatically hung up.

House sighed, then pressed the delete button on the machine and shuffled back over to the couch, sitting down heavily.

"Does he always complain if you sleep in?" Cameron asked, smirking, and House snorted a laugh and then immediately grimaced in pain, again rubbing his throat with his fingers.

"_Always_," he said, and his voice was barely louder than a whisper. He seemed about to say something else, but he swallowed and she could see that it produced sufficient pain to make any further speaking inadvisable.

"It's ok," she said, waving a hand. "Drink up. It'll help."

He regarded the mug of bright yellow liquid with distaste, but took a large swig before setting it back down on the coffee table. Suddenly, he turned to her and made a gesture in the air; the universal sign for "Give me something to write with".

She frowned for a moment before remembering she had a pen in her purse, and quickly found it and handed it to him.

From the mess of magazines, newspapers and assorted other items on the coffee table, House retrieved a legal pad, holding it up triumphantly as he glanced at her. She smiled and nodded, and he moved his two mugs to the side and set the pad on the coffee table in front of him.

He wrote for a moment, then slid the pad so it was halfway between them, and Cameron leaned forward to read the message.

_"Had no idea you did House calls_," it said, and she grinned at the pun.

"I knew you wouldn't have anything for a sore throat," she shrugged. "And the less grouchy you are, the easier it is at work."

He narrowed his eyebrows but she could see a glimpse of a smirk on his face. He looked at her for a long moment until at last she glanced away.

House swallowed the rest of the hot lemon and immediately chased it with a gulp of coffee, then glanced at her again before scribbling something else on the pad.

"_That the only reason you came over?_" it said, and she flushed slightly when she read it.

_I knew it_, he thought, and he suddenly also knew with certainty that she'd had to talk herself out of coming over last night instead of just calling. He frowned slightly. That would have been a dangerous situation.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and he shrugged, still looking at her.

Cameron considered whether to mention anything about the moment in the lab. She hadn't yet even admitted to herself that it was part of the reason she was here; maybe a _large_ part of the reason; so it seemed unwise to bring it up.

_He already knows that's why I'm here_, her mind whispered, and she was initially startled by the realization. But this was House, after all - he almost always knew what she was thinking about.

_Fine_, she thought. _Maybe I can put him on the spot for once._

"Is there something _you_ want to talk about?" she asked, keeping her face neutral as she looked him in the eye, and she saw with satisfaction that he was thrown by the question. He quickly recovered, however, and jotted another note:

"_New dress code at work - girls wear bikinis._"

She raised an eyebrow and glared at him, and he raised his arms with his palms upwards - _My hands are tied!_ She simply rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee.

They sat in silence for a few moments. House was staring at the darkened screen of the TV when out of the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head. He glanced at her with a question in his eyes, and saw that she was grinning.

"I just can't imagine you singing along at a rock concert," she said.

By way of response, he picked up his cane from the side of the coffee table and held it as a guitar, miming a power-chord with a look of intense concentration. She laughed out loud, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink, and once again he found himself making a not entirely successful effort to avoid grinning at her.

* * *

They had been talking (or writing, on House's part) inconsequentially for some twenty minutes when Cameron was startled by a knock at the door. She quickly looked around at House and he shrugged, grabbing his cane as he stood up. 

He shuffled over to the door and opened it to reveal Wilson, who opened his mouth to speak and then promptly closed it again when he saw Cameron sitting on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to interrupt," the younger man said at last, and House rolled his eyes.

"Oh, actually I was just leaving," Cameron replied, flustered and hurriedly getting up from the couch and gathering her jacket and purse.

Wilson was about to ask her not to leave on his account, but he saw her discomfort and wisely kept silent.

_What's this all about?_ he wondered as he stepped inside.

House moved slightly aside to make room for Cameron to pass, and when she reached him he cleared his throat painfully.

"_Thanks,_" he managed to croak, and she smiled at him timidly. Wilson's brow creased slightly when he heard the strained, raspy whisper of House's voice.

"You're welcome," she said. "There are more packets in the kitchen." He nodded, and her face relaxed a little.

"Hope you feel better," she said, and then turned to briefly nod at Wilson before stepping through the doorway.

House silently watched her go down the few front steps and walk along the sidewalk until the angle of the doorway obscured his view, then he closed the door. He glanced at Wilson, who was wearing a puzzled and thoughtful expression, then he returned to the couch without a word.

"Well," began Wilson, walking slowly over to the side of the couch Cameron had recently vacated, "I'm guessing she brought you something for your concert-induced laryngitis?" This wasn't the first time House had injured his voice at such an event.

House nodded, using his cane to point towards the discarded mug which had contained the hot lemon, and Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"Thoughtful," he said, and House shot him a look. Wilson only grinned slightly before continuing.

"So I guess the 64,000 dollar question is... how did she know you had laryngitis in the first place?"

House sighed, then reached once again for the pen and legal pad, flipping to a new page. He wrote for a moment, then turned the pad so that Wilson could read the words.

"_She called last night. Felt bad that you abandoned me._"

Wilson frowned, a hurt expression on his face, then saw House's smirk and shook his head.

"I didn't _abandon_ you," he said, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch from House. "And may I ask why she practically ran out of here when I showed up?" he asked, now wearing the slightest smirk of his own.

House simply shrugged as picked up the TV remote, pressing a button to switch the TV on, and Wilson sighed and vigorously shook his head.

"If she's still chasing you, she's crazy," Wilson laughed. "You'd think she could take a _hint_ -"

He stopped abruptly as he received a sharp glance from House, who had picked up his cane once more and was brandishing it threateningly.

"Ok, topic dropped," Wilson said quickly, raising his hands in surrender, and House lowered his cane after a few seconds. House had found the channel the hockey game was showing on, and increased the volume on the TV.

Both men were lost in their own thoughts as they watched the pre-game discussion.

_I've seen that look once before_, thought Wilson. It had been two years ago, when he had accused House of letting Cameron get to him with her niceness. When Wilson had implied, jokingly, that he may have already made a move on her, House had shot him that same look.

_The look that says something is off-limits_, he thought. _Hmm._

Wilson had frowned, but House was too focused on his own train of thought to notice.

_I'm not tired, and I'm not drunk_, he thought.

His throat still hurt, granted, but less than it had an hour earlier. He had been sitting down for a while and his leg was barely complaining at all right now. Wilson was here to keep him company, and there was a hockey game on. He should have been as content as he was able to be.

And yet his thoughts dwelled on when he had opened the door that morning and seen her standing there; when she had made him coffee in his kitchen; when she had sat beside him and laughed. He frowned deeply, feeling threatened in some vague and undefined way.

And did he perhaps resent Wilson slightly for turning up?

_No, damn it_, he thought, angry with himself for considering it. _Just sour grapes for skipping the concert, which wasn't his fault. Now leave it._

He lifted his right leg carefully up onto the coffee table and sat further back on the couch, crossing his arms resolutely. It was time for the hockey game. And nothing else.

* * *

Cameron closed the cupboard door in her apartment's kitchen with more force than was strictly necessary, and then shook her head. 

"Damn it," she said.

She had sat in her car in front of House's place for five minutes or so, too angry with herself to drive, but had eventually returned to her own apartment.

_I bet House is having a great time with this_, she thought.

As soon as Wilson showed up, she had become flustered and had practically ran out, like a teenage girl with a crush. No doubt Monday would bring sarcastic remarks about her hasty exit, delivered when there was as large an audience as possible. Foreman would pity her, Chase would act like he actually had the right to be _annoyed_, and she would generally feel about five inches tall.

_And now he can deny everything_, she thought. _Even though he was looking at me that way again_.

She felt like she could almost scream with frustration, but she was too angry; angry with herself and also angry with him.

_Calm down, Allison_, she thought._ This isn't exactly a new situation._

But that wasn't true either, because how _he_ was behaving was... different, somehow. She felt that yesterday in the lab she'd been allowed to see a little more of him than he was usually willing to share. And the way he'd looked at her was -

"Enough!" she said aloud, frowning at how loud her voice sounded in the otherwise empty room. She would see him on Monday, and things would have calmed down by then. If there was still something to talk about, perhaps he'd at least be physically _able_ to talk.

And if whatever it was had passed by then?

_Then it's not worth talking about anyway_, she thought. That seemed true.

She nodded to herself, and resumed putting away her breakfast dishes. She would make herself some lunch, and forget all about House until Monday.

_It's going to be another long weekend_, she thought, and sighed.

* * *

House's fingers glided over the piano keys with practiced ease, though he was barely aware that he was playing the instrument at all. 

It was now late evening, and Wilson had left hours ago. They had ordered pizza while watching the hockey game, and House had successfully managed to use his sore throat, and the hassle of having to write replies, to avoid most conversation. Wilson had tried once more to question him about Cameron, and had received only a strike to the shin with House's cane.

The younger man had eventually left, and House had been idly playing the piano for some time now, a glass of scotch sitting mostly untouched nearby.

_Vicodin, bitterness and guilt_, he thought. Those had been the primary reasons Stacy had left.

He'd resented her for approving the removal of his thigh muscle, and he'd made sure that she knew it. He'd pushed her away, and his frustration and anger at his mobility problems and the chronic pain had only made that job easier.

Then there was the Vicodin. She could see even then that he would become dependent on it, and that he flaunted that fact; a public habit which she couldn't even bring herself to morally object to. He'd made it clear that his life was going downhill from then onwards, and that it was at least partly her fault, and in the end that had been too much for her to cope with.

_When it got too real_, he thought unkindly, but it was true. Stacy had never been good when reality set in, and she'd proved that by almost leaving her husband when history looked to be repeating itself.

So her rising panic and despair, coupled with the guilt which he had made sure to nurture and encourage, had finally overcome her. She had left, and he hadn't been surprised. By then, he had been securely wrapped in the blanket of his own misery, and cloaked in the persona of misanthropy and brusqueness which he was so careful to maintain, and it had been the same ever since.

His foot pressed the damper pedal of the piano and he struck the keys with increased force, enjoying how the resonant sound of the notes drowned his thoughts. The effect only lasted for a brief moment.

_And then we have Cameron_, his traitorous mind interjected, and he frowned more deeply.

She felt no guilt towards him, so that could be removed from the list, but the other two remained: bitterness and a concern about the drug. Also, _this_ list had new entries.

_Age. Professionalism. History. Charity._ He punctuated each one with a sharp strike on a high note, both enjoying and profoundly disliking the shrill crispness of the sound.

There was a large age gap: fifteen years. It also wasn't 20 versus 35 either; he was already in his mid-forties. When she reached 60, he would be either 75 or dead.

_Probably the latter_, he thought, but he felt no fear at the idea. There was only a distant sadness to it, and his hands unconsciously imbued the music with that same tone.

Then came the issue of her being his employee. It wasn't an issue for _him_, but may well become one for her. It didn't seem to have been a problem before, but that was hardly the issue.

_Which brings us to history_, he thought. His fingers now flew over the keys, producing delicate but bleak melodies ever faster with only the barest conscious awareness of the music.

Their date had been a failure. Not the monster trucks; that had actually been one of the better days he remembered from recent years. The faintest ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, and disappeared just as rapidly.

He had sabotaged their actual date with surgical precision, precisely because of the points on this list. Her marriage to a dying man had confirmed her to be a pathological martyr; drawn to hopeless charity cases like a moth to a flame, and with the same result.

_Not enough_, he thought.

It wasn't a basis for a relationship. If he had ever harbored thoughts of being with her, this list had always been more than enough to quench them. It could be seen as a list of reasons that it wouldn't work, though that's not how he thought of it.

They were simply the reasons why she, too, would eventually leave. Perhaps not after a day or a week or a month or a year, but _eventually_. That had always seemed clear to him. His analysis seemed faultless, and based on both observation and experience. He trusted his ability to analyze; it was bedrock amidst constant uncertainty.

_The numbers say keep her at arm's length_, he thought, and it was a familiar conclusion. The same conclusion as last time, and fifty times before that.

And if the numbers no longer seemed to be the entire truth? If in fact, a part of him whispered that the analysis could be incomplete, and the numbers thus be wrong?

His fingers abruptly stopped, leaving a discordant note echoing through the stillness of the darkened apartment. He stared directly down at the keys without seeing them, frowning intensely.

That was a question which seemed to have no acceptable answer.

* * *

Cameron had spent the entire rest of the day refusing to allow herself to think about that morning, or about the day before. It was easy to distract herself when she needed to: grocery shopping, then cleaning her apartment, then dinner, then curling up with a mug of cocoa and a good book. It always worked, and it didn't fail her this time. 

By the time she began to realize she was tired, she had already made it through almost half of the novel she was reading, having only started it just after dinner. She marked her page and put the book down, stretching before getting up off the couch.

The small lamp just outside her bedroom had come on automatically at dusk, so she flicked the switch to turn off the overhead light in the living room and walked easily to her bedroom door by the light of the lamp. Switching on the bedroom light, she automatically glanced back towards the now darkened living room. She saw the couch, faintly outlined in the dim light. Her apartment always looked cozy to her, and it was always a delight to come home to that feeling.

But tonight, in the dim lamp-light and the oblong of brighter light escaping from the bedroom, the main area of the apartment had another tone. It was... quiet, somehow, but then all places are quiet at night. That wasn't it.

_Empty_, she thought, and frowned slightly.

It wasn't literally empty, of course. It was full of her things; her furniture, her books, her music; even her treadmill was still visible in the corner. And she was there, of course.

_But no-one else_, her mind supplied, and she shivered.

It was not a shiver of fear; it had been many years since darkness or the mere fact of being in a place by herself had caused any distress. It was just... an empty feeling.

At once, as quickly and suddenly as if it had been waiting for this precise moment, the image of his face as he looked down at her in the lab the previous day swam into her mind, and she gave a small gasp. She was still looking towards the living room of her apartment, but her mind saw him instead. Even the light had a similar quality.

_He'd have that same look if he was here right now_, she thought, and shivered once more.

Her brow creased again. It was late, and she didn't need this. She sighed. It was understandable that her mind had dredged up the image again when she was tired, particularly after her abrupt exit from his apartment this morning. But that didn't mean she wanted to think about it.

She took a steady breath, willing the train of thought to disperse, and turned and went into the bedroom. It was warm and inviting, and it was a safe place where she could be alone without _feeling_ alone.

If there was anywhere that she could turn her thoughts to brighter things, it was surely here. Even so, she suspected that tonight, sleep might be a long time coming.

* * *

House had given up on his musings almost 40 minutes ago, and yet he still lay awake. The glowing figures on the bedside alarm clock seemed to be advancing with glacial slowness, silently mocking the elusiveness of sleep. 

He shifted slightly, but not much. He always slept on his back now; it had taken time to get used to it, but it made a big difference in just how painful his leg was in the mornings. He glanced yet again at the bedside clock; only 7 minutes had passed since the last time. The lowest part of the clock's leftmost digit was obscured by a small object sitting on the nightstand in front of it.

His cellphone.

He propped himself up on one elbow, and reached for the phone, pressing a button on the side to illuminate the small ancillary screen on the front. No calls, no messages. Not surprising; Wilson didn't tend to bother him if he'd already seen him that day. Especially with a bruised shin to take care of.

There were no messages from Cameron either.

_Why would there be?_ he frowned at his own thought.

He flipped the phone open and pressed the navigation pad to the left, to create a new text message. He had watched the entire smooth movement in the same way as he watched his own hands play the piano, seemingly without his conscious control.

He paused, unsure what he was doing. This was presumably a bad idea, and he was certain his mind would now strenuously point that out. Tonight, however, his mind was silent on the subject.

Slowly and deliberately, he tapped out a message. When he had finished, he read it over, and then read it over again. He pressed a button, and selected _Cameron_ from the list of possible recipients.

He felt a first sudden hint of anxiety bloom in his chest, as if his mind had just awakened to what was going on, and again his hand moved seemingly of its own free will. He blinked as his message smoothly disappeared from the screen, to be replaced a moment later with a tersely-worded alert box.

_Message Sent_, it said.

* * *

From long experience, Cameron's first thought as she was startled from her light doze was a single word: _Pager_. 

She sat up in bed, shaking her head to clear it, and realized that the sound had stopped as suddenly as it began. Her heart was beating quickly.

_OK, not the pager_, she thought. The pager didn't simply stop beeping of its own accord, and the beep hadn't been the same anyway. The sound had come from her cellphone; she had a new message.

Groaning, she leaned across to her nightstand and fumbled for her phone.

_This had better not be you, Chase_, she thought, her eyes narrowing at the idea of being wakened by a drunken and plaintively amorous message.

Her heart, which had began to slow back to its normal pace as she became fully awake, seemed to momentarily stop altogether as she saw the name superimposed on the envelope icon on her phone's screen: _House_.

She felt suddenly apprehensive, and her thumb hovered for several seconds before finally pressing a button to display the message's contents.

"_Thanks for the House call.  
Got Wilson guessing.  
You didn't have to leave._"

She read it carefully, and then she read it again.

* * *

_This is exactly why this is a bad idea_, House thought, scowling in the darkness. 

He should never have sent the message. It was innocuous enough on the surface, but sending her a message _now_, late at night, hours later? He was disgusted at himself.

"_Didn't have to leave_," he snorted, reveling in the pain it caused in his throat. He was dangerously close to acting like a - his mouth curled into a grimace of distaste - like a _teenager_.

_Or like Wilson_, he thought, for once finding no amusement in mocking his friend.

He was even more awake now than he'd been before, and that wasn't likely to change anytime soon. He threw the bedcovers back with an exasperated sigh.

He would get up, put on some late-night TV, have a glass of scotch, listen to music; anything. Whatever it took to get things into perspective, and regain some _composure_. Then, in the morning, this entire debacle would be completely -

_Beep-beep_. _Beep-beep_.

He lay perfectly still for several seconds, until he began to wonder if the noise had been a trick of his mind. Slowly, he turned his head to look over at his cellphone, once again sitting on the nightstand. Its screen gave a faint blue glow. He hadn't imagined the beeping sound which indicated the arrival of a new message.

He reached out and picked up the phone. In the darkness, it glowed and cast irregular shadows in his palm, masking its true shape. At that moment it seemed more like an exotic flower than a piece of technology; beautiful and delicate, but also possibly deadly to the unwary.

His eyes were closed when he pressed a button to display the message, and he only opened them after a long moment.

"_You're welcome for the House call.  
Just didn't think you'd want me hanging around.  
Do you feel any different now?_"

He read it, and then slowly placed the phone beside him on the bed. His mind whirred and worked furiously, but he could identify no discernible _thought_ for several minutes. At last, his mind's silence was broken.

_That's... perfect_, he thought, and despite everything he couldn't prevent one corner of his mouth from curling slightly into a dazed half-grin.

Her message was perfect. Possibly the most flawlessly sculpted specimen of breezy conversation, with deep pools of hidden meaning, that he had ever seen. She was a woman, of course, and so extremely gifted in that regard anyway, but at this she was undoubtedly a master. He felt a sombre respect for her, always present but only rarely acknowledged, flare up.

He frowned deeply, but if his face could have been seen in the darkness of the room, it would have worn an expression that could only be described as trepidation. He suddenly felt both very old and very young, and neither in a pleasant way.

_I don't know how to do this_, he thought. _And the worst part is that... I want to._

* * *

Cameron drew the bedcovers around her, staring up at the ceiling with only the dim light of the lamp in the hall spilling through the bedroom doorway. 

_I didn't say anything wrong_, she told herself, for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.

Her message had been inconsequential; light. Nothing to fret about. She groaned.

"Who am I kidding?" she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

She had no idea what was happening, or even if anything _was_ happening, but whenever he seemed to give a little more of himself to her than he usually did, she couldn't help but respond. Because she had never lost hope.

_Which might just make me an idiot_, she thought, but she didn't truly believe it.

She rolled over onto her side, and glanced in the direction of her nightstand where her cellphone once again sat. She took a deep, calming breath, and closed her eyes. She should at least _try_ to sleep.

Gradually, she began to lightly doze. And though she did not fall fully asleep until more than forty minutes later, no reply came.


	4. Chapter 4

**Since my significant other has been busy reading her copy of the last Harry Potter book all day (which we picked up at midnight last night), I had a bit of time on my hands and decided to write another chapter. I also have the next couple of chapters planned out, and hopefully won't keep you waiting too long for them. :)**

**Thanks for the positive reviews once again; it means a lot to know that some of you feel I'm managing to keep House (and even Cameron) true to character. I think I'm enjoying writing this one even more than _Opening Doors_. Perhaps I just enjoy angst!**

**Please do keep those reviews coming if you feel there's something worth commenting on (receiving notification of a new review is truly a huge encouragement to me), and as always thanks very much for taking the time to read. I'll endeavor to keep you entertained.  
**

**All the best,  
-RGB**

* * *

Cameron was surprised to see sunlight streaming in through a gap in her bedroom curtains when she opened her eyes. 

The last thing she remembered was having sent a reply to House's message, and then lying awake for a little while, but sleep had overtaken her surprisingly quickly. She felt a stab of anxiety; what if he had replied and she had been asleep?

She groaned, sitting up in bed and reaching for her cellphone on the nightstand. She had to blink several times before her eyes would focus properly, then she pressed a button to illuminate the screen.

It displayed the time and date, phone battery level, signal strength, and the name of her cellular network provider, all superimposed over a picture of a purple lily which had been on the phone when she got it. If she had had any new messages or missed calls, an alert would be displayed in the center of the screen. No such alert was shown.

_He didn't reply_, she thought, and she felt a wave of disappointment. She wasn't actually surprised; it was just like him to back off whenever he felt she was trying to get closer. But he was the one who had sent the first message last night.

She sighed. She felt like staying in bed for the rest of the morning, but of course she wouldn't. She would not mope. She knew that he would always be the one to set the pace, no matter what she did, so she could only once again try to be patient and see what would happen.

_That's if there's anything going on at all_, she thought.

* * *

House lay on his couch with his right arm extended, bouncing his cane on the coffee table. He had been awake for almost three hours now, and given that it was a Sunday, that fact in itself was troubling. 

He had not replied to her message, but not because he could think of nothing to say; the opposite was true. So caution was the appropriate course of action.

_Let things cool off for a while_, he thought, and he knew he was referring to himself rather than to her.

The truth was, he didn't want things to cool off for _her_. There was no particular reason to think that they would; she was seemingly just as interested in him now as she had been before, and now she had more reason to think that her feelings may not be as unrequited as she might have thought. And yet, he now felt the pressure of time; a need to _act_.

Which was exactly why he was going to do nothing at all. He would see her at work tomorrow, of course, and that was sooner than he would have liked, but today at least he could attempt to get things in perspective.

_To get back in control_, he amended.

He didn't enjoy being ruled by anything but his own intellect. She wasn't currently in control of this situation either, but nor was he. And he felt that he ought to be.

He sighed, and slowly got up from the couch, wincing as a needle of pain shot through his leg. His apartment was becoming claustrophobic, and he had spent far too long staring at the box of hot lemon powder sachets in his kitchen earlier. He had also noticed that whenever he heard the faint sound of footsteps out on the street, he would listen carefully to see if they would approach his door.

He shook his head, picking up his jacket and the keys for the bike. He would go out, maybe buy some music, and try to decompress. His problems would still be here when he returned, but right now he could use a break.

* * *

_A hundred and forty dollars?_ she thought, raising her eyebrows without being aware of it. 

She put the delicate red shoe carefully back on its stand on the shelf. They were beautiful, but they weren't _that_ beautiful.

This was the third shoe shop she'd been to in the last hour, but she was just browsing.

When she had finally got up, showered and eaten breakfast, she had found herself at a loss as to what to do with her day. Her apartment had seemed somehow too quiet, and given that the weather was spectacular for once, it had seemed foolish to stay at home. A shopping trip had seemed to be in order.

She knew that she was just distracting herself, but it was working well. The rather mindless pleasure of sifting through endless dresses and tops and shoes and bags and necklaces was good therapy, and she felt genuinely calm and happy for the first time that weekend.

She picked up a pair of white open-toed sandals with small pink flowers on top, and decided that she would try them on.

* * *

House scowled, tapping his cane on the ground impatiently. 

_What idiot categorizes these?_ he wondered, glancing briefly around as if the perpetrator might even be present and thus a ready target.

Fortunately, no-one else was currently in the jazz section of the music store, and he sighed. He could see through a glass partition that the _Rock and Pop_ area was teeming with people, as was the adjacent videogames department. Rock music and videogames were all well and good, but he was of the opinion that the almost deserted jazz section was surely an omen of the impending downfall of civilized society.

He returned the CD to the rack, deliberately upside down and out of alphabetical order, and glanced again in the direction of the videogames department. He grimaced, steeling himself in preparation for rejoining the great unwashed masses.

He knew that it would have been a shorter walk to his destination by going via the part of the store which displayed the singles chart, and due to standing for a while his leg had begun to complain slightly, but he chose instead to walk the full length of the jazz section towards the interconnecting glass door which would take him straight to the Nintendo DS games.

To do anything else, after all, would have been hypocrisy.

* * *

She had bought the sandals. 

They had only cost twenty-five dollars, and she could wear them on weekends even if all she was doing was grocery shopping, so they're were practical enough, but more importantly they were pretty. They made her smile, and that was what this shopping trip was all about.

She felt good, and now that she had actually bought something, she felt vindicated too. She shaded her eyes as she walked out of the store into the bright sunlight, and looked around.

_I could use some coffee_, she thought. She knew there was a coffee shop a couple of blocks further up the street, and after a moment's consideration, she set off.

* * *

House leaned against the railing, his brow furrowed slightly in the bright sunlight. He was looking into the small park which occupied this whole block. The music store he had recently left was only a few hundred yards back down the street, and he could have easily still seen it if he had turned his head. 

But he did not, because he was watching the couple sitting on the grass not far from the park's gate. They had spread out a blanket, and the man was lying on it, propped up on one elbow. The woman was busy pouring something - orange juice, perhaps - from a bottle into two small plastic cups. It looked like there might be sandwiches too. A picnic lunch in the park, on a warm Sunday.

There were many others in the park. A middle-aged woman walking a small, ugly dog; a trio of teenage girls shrieking with laughter; a boy in clothing too dark and heavy for the weather, lost in the music buzzing waspishly from his white earphones; more. But House watched only the couple with the picnic.

The woman had reddish-brown hair, though it was hard to tell just how red it actually was in this dazzling sunlight. She looked to be in her late twenties, give or take. The man was older, though not so old as the edge of silver in the hair in front of his ears would tend to indicate. He was perhaps nearing forty, and in good shape. The woman would glance over at her companion every few moments, smiling, and the smile would unfailingly be returned.

House shifted his weight more fully onto his good leg, and hung his cane on the top of the waist-high metal railing. The two people were a couple; there was no question about that. Body language alone made that clear, but their status was confirmed when the woman leaned over and said something to the man which made him laugh, and then he kissed her.

_This isn't a good idea_, House thought, allowing his gaze to momentarily fall to the area of grass directly in front of him, before sighing and once again looking in the direction of the picnickers.

So there were couples out there with an age gap; that wasn't exactly big news. The rest of his reasons for holding back still stood. He also knew absolutely nothing about those people; they _proved_ nothing.

That was all undeniably true. The logic was incontrovertible.

_So it's settled_, he thought. But he didn't move, and he didn't glance away.

"Damn it," he muttered.

The fact was that, whilst this couple in the park proved nothing, they did seem to _mean_ something. And yet he knew that logically, they meant absolutely nothing. A chance encountering of two unknown people, which should rationally have only strengthened his conviction that not responding to Cameron had been the correct course of action, had instead only brought her to the forefront of his mind once more.

And what did _that_ mean?

It meant that logic and rationality and common sense, whilst of course still being available, seemed to no longer be the only tools by which he conducted his analysis of this particular situation. Indeed, they seemed to have taken second place. And replacing them, there was... what?

_Just... something else_, he thought.

The day was still extremely warm, but he shivered slightly nonetheless. Keeping his heart out of the equation had always brought clarity and conviction to his decisions and actions. Now, without his permission, that principle had been silently discarded. This was unfamiliar territory, and he felt dangerously ill-equipped for it, yet he also felt something else building up inside him, slowly but steadily.

A calm and detached analysis may have called that feeling _anticipation_, but a calm and detached analysis wasn't feasible just at the moment.

He silently continued to watch the couple, confused by both hope and resentment, and frowning deeply. He felt utterly lost.

* * *

Cameron stopped suddenly, almost causing a young man on a bicycle to collide with her from behind. 

_Can't be_, she thought, squinting slightly in the light, but it was. House, standing across the street.

He was facing away from her, leaning on the railing surrounding this side of the small park, but there was no mistaking his hair, his cane, his sneakers, his t-shirt, and even his stance. She looked around to see if Wilson was perhaps nearby, but he seemed to be alone.

Her stomach fluttered nervously. This had not been part of her plan for the day. She considered simply continuing on her way, but discarded the thought almost immediately.

_What's he doing?_ she wondered, taking a few steps forward to the edge of the sidewalk. She still couldn't see well enough. He was looking into the park, but the angle of the railing and the distance of the width of the street made it impossible to see more.

She took a deep breath, and crossed the street, staying at the outer edge of the sidewalk and a little way along from where House was standing. She followed the apparent line of his gaze, and saw a couple having a picnic across the park.

She frowned slightly in confusion. Did he perhaps know these people? Patients, or friends? It seemed unlikely. It seemed strange that he would watch them even if he _did_ know them. She took a step closer.

The man on the picnic blanket had moved, revealing the side of his face in profile. Cameron saw the gray in his hair. She saw him reach out to caress the face of the woman, who was clearly younger. The sunlight painted a streak of white fire across the woman's chestnut hair.

Cameron glanced over to where House stood, and though his face was hidden from her, she saw his head tilt slightly downwards.

_Oh_, she thought.

Cars passed on the street, dogs barked, and children laughed. None of these sounds registered with her. She was walking before she was aware she had decided to move.

* * *

House was only very vaguely aware of the people who passed by him as he stood looking into the park. Someone would occasionally stop, glancing into the park before continuing on their way. He didn't even bother to glance around; he was not interested in them. 

When another set of footsteps approached, he barely acknowledged it. A woman, by the sound of the shoes. She would carry on in a moment; women didn't linger near lone men, especially lone men with canes.

The footsteps did not resume. He felt the slightest hint of irritation, but he pushed it aside. It was a public park and a public sidewalk, after all.

There was a brief, gentle gust of wind, and the scent of perfume whispered by. He thought it smelled rather like Cameron's, and he immediately shook his head at his own foolishness.

_Give me a break_, he thought.

"Nice day," Cameron said.

House's head whipped around, and he staggered back half a step. She gave him a very small grin.

_You have absolutely got to be kidding me_, he thought, once he could actually think anything at all.

He glanced quickly around, as if to reassure himself of the reality of the situation. His heart was beating quickly. He simply nodded dumbly in response, after a long pause.

She was indeed actually there, somehow. She had a shopping bag which looked like it contained a shoe box, and her purse. She wore a white summer dress, and her hair was down. He was unable to prevent himself from looking at her appreciatively, and she allowed him to. After a moment, she half turned so that she was standing beside him, also looking into the park, putting her bags on the ground beside her.

House continued to look at her for a few seconds, and then once again turned his head towards the park, though he had momentarily forgotten what he had previously been looking at.

They stood in silence for a short while. Her arm was only inches from his, and he could feel the warmth of her skin radiating out towards him.

"They look happy," she said quietly, and he closed his eyes.

This day had taken on a dreamlike quality. He thought of her, and she appeared. He thought of something else, and she knew what it was, and what his feelings were about it. He was aware of their roles having been reversed, though he was unsure when - or how - it had happened. He opened his eyes again. There was no longer any sense in lying, but that certainly didn't mean it was time for _truth_.

"Wait til his wife finds out," he quipped, frowning slightly. His throat was slightly better than it had been yesterday, but by no means pain-free.

She sighed. After a moment, she put her hand on the railing beside his, so close as to be very nearly touching. She saw his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly, and his shoulder tensed for a moment before relaxing once more. He did not look around. They stood like that for several minutes, and neither spoke.

At last, she lifted her hand away. House looked around, and saw that she once again had her shopping bag and her purse over her shoulder. She took a deep breath, and looked him in the eye. She had the barest trace of a smile on her face, but her expression was solemn.

"When you're ready to talk, you know where to find me," she said.

His gaze dropped, and she saw his brow crease.

_I know how difficult this is for you_, she thought.

She knew very well how much he always tried to maintain an impenetrable shield around himself, but she could also plainly see that something had changed within him. There was no longer any question that she had imagined the look in his eyes two days before. And that was progress, at least.

In that moment, she could also see the simple, fundamental truth of him far more clearly than she ever had before. He was profoundly lonely, and it was a condition he willfully imposed upon himself.

She reached out and gently placed her hand on top of his, and saw gooseflesh immediately break out along his arm. She glanced up at his face, but his eyes were closed.

Her hand lingered for a brief moment, and then she lifted it away, looking at him again. This time, he was looking back at her, and his gaze was the most intense she had ever seen. His eyes had the power to thrill and terrify her in equal measure, but they did neither today. Instead, they spoke for him, but their message was a whirl of emotions which she could barely separate and identify, much less decipher.

At last, he glanced briefly down at the ground, and then turned his head away. He was now looking upwards towards the vivid blue of the midday sky.

Cameron turned and slowly walked to the edge of the sidewalk, and then crossed the street. She did not look back, and he did not watch her leave.


	5. Chapter 5

**Time for another chapter. This one took a while to write, and not just because of the length; you'll see why when you read it. I have an obvious general theme in mind for this story - communication without actually speaking - and the events of this chapter fit that theme, even if they perhaps take some dramatic license with what House might do. I've tried to remain true to the personality and mannerisms of the characters in any case.**

**I'm in two minds about this chapter, actually - not sure whether I like it or not. Any thoughts and comments are always gratefully received.  
**

**Cheers,  
-RGB**

* * *

Monday morning dawned gray and damp, the temperature several degrees lower than the day before. The forecast predicted clearer weather on Tuesday, which of course did little to cheer those who were beginning the week with a drive to work in the rain. 

Cameron was already in the conference room by 8:30 am, and had finished sorting House's mail and filtering his email before nine. They had no new case yet, and Chase had thus offered his services in the NICU. Foreman was scheduled for almost an entire day of House's clinic hours, and both men had only stopped by the Diagnostic Medicine department briefly to drop off their jackets and collect a mug of coffee. By 9:05 am, Cameron was alone once more.

She had neither seen nor heard from House since she had walked away from him the previous day, and she wasn't particularly surprised. It wasn't necessarily a bad sign; he simply needed time, and she had no choice but to allow him that time.

She had been very strict with herself the previous evening about not contacting him, but nonetheless she at one point had to delete an already partly-written text message without sending it.

She glanced at the clock; it was now 9:21 am. She was nervous about his impending arrival at work, she realized. He wouldn't say anything about yesterday, she was sure of that. But there was a tension between them now, and it was uncomfortable. Despite her anxiety, she hoped he would say _something_ to her about it soon, one way or the other.

She busied herself with her own mail and administrative work, and before long she faintly heard a familiar _step-thump, step-thump_ from further down the corridor. She felt a brief flutter of renewed nervousness, and got up to begin making his coffee.

She paused as she realized that she could now also hear a voice; it was Wilson's. She relaxed slightly; things wouldn't be so awkward with Wilson around, and she didn't think that House would have said anything to his friend about whatever it was that was going on.

_Not yet, at least,_ she thought.

She took down an extra mug, and filled both it and House's distinctive red one with freshly brewed coffee, adding the appropriate milk for Wilson and two sugars for House. A moment later, both men arrived in the conference room.

"Morning, Cameron," said Wilson, brightly, and she smiled.

"Morning," she replied, setting both mugs of coffee down on the table in the middle of the room. She glanced briefly at House and nodded a greeting, and he returned the nod without maintaining eye-contact.

She returned to her computer in the corner and glanced back over to see House taking the legal pad and her pen out of his rucksack and putting them on table. Wilson had already sat down, and took a long swig of his coffee before sighing appreciatively and nodding in her direction. She gave him a small smile and then turned back to her screen.

"I still don't see what's wrong with it being in the jazz section," Wilson said, seemingly to House, and the older man tutted. House bent over the table and forcefully scribbled something on the legal pad before pushing it over towards Wilson.

His friend read the message, then raised his eyebrows.

"I'll be sure to relay that message to my mother next time I speak to her," he said, in the tone he reserved for when he was refusing to rise to a particularly biting piece of sarcasm.

Cameron had no idea what House had written, but she could just about imagine. She couldn't help but grin slightly as she tapped away at her keyboard.

House was still standing beside the table, but his head was turned towards Cameron. He saw the slight grin on her face, and knew the source of it. He began to smirk slightly himself, but then he stopped.

Her hair was gathered into a ponytail, and she didn't have her lab-coat on at the moment. She was wearing one of her standard work outfits: gray slacks, and the lilac blouse with slight ruffles down the neckline. She was wearing her glasses because she was working at the computer, and she had no idea that he was watching her.

She was unbelievably sexy.

Wilson saw his friend staring at Cameron, and his brow furrowed.

_Enough is enough_, he thought. He would get House to talk to him about this somehow.

House frowned, glancing away from her, and noted that Wilson was watching him thoughtfully, with one eyebrow very slightly raised in a silent question. He sighed, and Cameron looked up, but neither man noticed.

Wilson leaned forward and slowly picked up the legal pad, not breaking eye-contact with House.

"My office?" he asked, though it didn't sound entirely like a question, and House slowly nodded.

They both collected their coffee mugs and walked out of the room without another word, and only Wilson glanced briefly in her direction before he left. His expression was one of contemplation, and she had immediately looked away.

She was once again alone in the conference room, but she did not relax. She was actually more nervous now than she'd been before House had arrived.

After a moment she got up, picking up her lab coat from the back of her chair. She couldn't simply wait around here on her own with little to do; she's go crazy before lunch.

"The centrifuge is going to be well calibrated this week," she said to the empty room, shrugging on her coat, but the room had no response for her.

She sighed deeply, and left.

* * *

He had barely been back in his office for five minutes, and Wilson was already running both his hands distractedly through his hair. 

"This stopped being funny more than a _year_ ago," Wilson said wearily.

House was sitting behind Wilson's desk, idly rolling a pen back and forth across the legal pad. He was frowning intensely, but there was a glint of mischievous enjoyment in his eyes, and Wilson was fully aware of it.

Wilson sighed in frustration, and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. He was very rarely seen without his shirt sleeves rolled up, but this was still probably a new record.

"She likes you; this we all know," he began, staring into the middle distance. "And I'm going to take a crazy stab in the dark and say that you like her too."

This drew a glance from House, but no response.

_Interesting_, Wilson thought, tilting his head slightly.

After a few moments of silence, House leaned forward and scribbled something on the pad, spinning it around so Wilson could read it.

"_Bumped into her in the park yesterday,_" it said.

"Huh," Wilson replied. "And she said... what?"

House glanced at him for a moment and sighed, then wrote a reply:

"_Said when I wanted to talk I knew where to find her._"

Wilson's mouth fell slightly open. He knew she was still interested in House, but if they were almost discussing it openly now, perhaps things had finally moved forward.

"And _you_ said?" he asked, gesturing impatiently, but House merely shook his head.

Wilson sighed in frustration, again running a hand through his hair.

"You do at least know that you're an idiot?" he asked, in a resigned voice, and he was surprised to see House lower his head slightly and nod.

Wilson frowned. This wasn't like House; he would always tend to make light of such a situation.

"So... are you going to talk to her?" Wilson asked, watching his friend's face carefully.

House frowned, seeming to genuinely consider the question. After a moment, he stood up, picking up his cane and the legal pad, and limped around the desk to where Wilson stood. He stopped for a moment, making eye-contact only briefly before glancing downwards again.

He nodded, and left.

* * *

Cameron hadn't seen House again all day, and she was unsure whether to be relieved or worried. Not having to face him had made the day easier, but not knowing what was going on - if anything - had made it seem to last much longer than usual. 

After some time in the lab she had decided to log some clinic hours after all, which had taken her through to lunchtime, and in the afternoon she offered her assistance in the immunology department, which was gratefully received. The afternoon had passed slightly faster than the morning, and she was now returning to the conference room to pack up before going home.

She walked into the darkened conference room, flicking the light switch as she passed it, and was unable to stop herself from glancing into House's office. It was empty, and also in darkness.

She had picked her jacket up from the back of the chair at her computer workstation in the corner when she heard a small scratching noise in the room, and she spun around. House was sitting in the chair at the far side of the conference table, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"You scared me," she gasped.

He reached forward and held up the legal pad, upon which he had just written "_SORRY_" in large letters, clearly in preparation for this very situation.

She gave a small laugh, shaking her head, and he smiled very slightly, but only for a moment.

She took a breath to lower her elevated pulse, and took a step towards him.

"How's the throat?" she asked, and he tilted his head - _A little better_.

"Glad to hear it," she replied, with the barest hint of good-natured sarcasm, and he smirked.

"Finished the lemon stuff," he said, and his voice did indeed sound noticeably better, though still with a slight rasp to it. His eyes had a thoughtful look.

_What does that mean?_ she wondered. Was it just a comment? An invitation? It was always so difficult to tell.

She smiled weakly, and she knew her nervousness was apparent, but she didn't care. She _was_ nervous, and it seemed like he ought to know that.

House slowly stood up and moved around the conference table, stopping only a few feet away from her. She felt her heart rate once again rise, and momentarily glanced away before forcing herself to meet his eye again.

He opened his mouth and then almost immediately closed it again. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, but she waited.

"Up to much tonight?" he asked, and his voice was casual; conversational. His furrowed brow and the way he was leaning more heavily on his cane than usual indicated otherwise.

She slowly shook her head, unsure where this was going.

He nodded, glancing around the room for several seconds before looking at her again. She looked puzzled.

"And... what about you?" she asked slowly, with caution clearly audible in her voice.

House shrugged.

"Got some stuff to do" he said, and her gaze dropped. She simply nodded.

He saw the disappointment on her face, and he thought he could actually feel it too. He wasn't surprised. He suddenly wanted this conversation to be over; he did have something to do, and the sooner he started the sooner it would be done.

_What do you say in these situations?_ he wondered, but there was no ready answer. Sighing, he said the only thing he could think of.

"Have a good night."

She nodded once again, and turned away. She felt dangerously close to tears, and didn't want him to notice.

He stood there for another moment, watching her gather her belongings into her purse, and then he turned and retreated into his office, allowing the connecting door to swing closed behind him.

* * *

There was music playing very quietly, but Cameron was completely unaware of it. She sat on her couch and stared across her dimly-lit apartment, seeing nothing. 

She had felt angry with him at first, but the feeling had evaporated before she had even got home. Over the course of the next few hours, it had been replaced by a deep-seated sense of loneliness, much worse than it had been a few nights before. She had an inexplicable sense of having _lost_ something, without ever first having gained it.

_I'm not sure I can do this_, she thought, and again found herself close to tears.

Her whole day today had been defined by what was, or wasn't, going on between her and House. She had been anxious almost from the moment she had arrived at work, and had essentially hidden herself away all day because of it. That had been possible today since they had no case, but it wouldn't always be so easy. And she didn't _want_ to feel that way.

_I really thought he was going to say something_, she thought, shaking her head.

No, not just _thought_; he _was_ going to say something. She was sure of it. But he had held back, just like before. And she would go in tomorrow and it would all be the same, even though they had made some kind of progress during the weekend.

She would go in early, sort his mail and reply to his emails, then make coffee. She would attend to her own mail, and sooner or later she would hear that same sound which could inspire either anticipation or dread: _step-thump, step-thump_.

She closed her eyes. She knew the characteristic sound of his gait intimately. It would speed up or slow down depending on how urgently he wanted to reach his destination and how much pain he was in, but the quality of it was always the same.

_Step-thump. Step-thump._

Her eyes flicked open. She had drunk no wine this evening, but her mind was playing tricks nonetheless. She held perfectly still, listening, but she had just imagined it.

She almost screamed at the sudden sound of wood knocking loudly against wood.

Hands shaking, she got up and crossed to the door, taking a deep breath to calm herself before opening it.

House stood there, his hair slightly damp with the rain and his leather jacket beaded with water. He had obviously come here on the bike.

Cameron stepped aside without a word, and House limped into her apartment. She closed the door behind him, then walked back over to the coffee table beside the couch. House remained near the door, looking around. He was clearly uncomfortable, and his expression was that of someone who had been sent to the principal's office.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked. "Coffee to warm you up?"

He glanced at her and shook his head after a moment.

"I'm not staying," he said, and she realized that this was the first time she had actually heard him sound openly nervous. His voice sounded better, at least, with only an edge of unusual roughness to distinguish it from normal.

"Ok," she replied, in a quiet and even voice, and waited for him to speak.

House took a step forward, clearing his throat without looking at her, but he did not speak yet. Long moments spun out. Cameron became very conscious of the sound of the small clock ticking on the mantelpiece.

"This isn't easy," he said at last, frowning. His eyes were fixed on the end of his cane as he gently tapped it against the floor.

"I know," she replied, walking slowly towards him. When she drew close, he briefly held up his hand, and she stopped. They stood in silence for almost a minute before he continued.

"So I wrote it down," he said.

Her heart thudded in her chest as he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a slightly crumpled plain brown envelope and held it out, meeting her eyes at last.

She looked from his hand to his eyes and back again before stepping forward very slowly. She reached out and curled her fingers around the envelope to take it, and her forefinger brushed across his. They both stood like that for several seconds, and then he released his grip.

She looked up at him, and after a moment he returned her gaze. His eyes were as blue as ever, but a lighter shade; closer to ice than to sapphire. She thought he looked a little afraid.

She wanted to say something, but there seemed to be no words. She reached out her hand and placed it on top of his right hand atop his cane.

He nodded, and his eyes roamed over her face for a moment before he turned towards the door. Her hand fell away, and she clutched the envelope tighter due to some instinct which had no representation in her conscious thoughts.

House opened the door and stepped out, and it swung shut with a click behind him.

She sighed. She heard the sound of his footsteps receding down the corridor, and after a few moments they were gone.

She stared at the envelope in her hand. She could feel the coarse texture of the brown paper, and it blurred in her mind with the roughness of his hand when she had briefly touched it. She had never been more glad to receive anything in her entire life, and yet she was terrified to open it.

A sudden impulse made her hurry to the window and draw back one curtain, to see if she could still see him. At almost the same moment, the sound of the bike's engine roaring to life drifted up from the street below, and she easily spotted the distinctive colors of its paintwork.

He had his helmet on now, of course, and he was already turning out into the street with his back to her, but she found herself placing her hand against the glass.

She watched as he twisted the throttle and the bike leaped away from the curb and accelerated down the street, its tail-light becoming lost in the rain within a few seconds.

She closed the curtain and returned to the couch, sitting down and placing the envelope on the coffee table. She stared at it, unopened, for a long time.

* * *

House had rode around aimlessly for 20 minutes, trying to think of nothing at all and appreciating the reduced traffic due to the rain, but in the end he had been too distracted to fully appreciate the simple pleasure of operating the machine beneath him. 

He had been back in his apartment only half an hour after he had left Cameron's, but it already seemed like hours had passed. He was now lying on the couch, soft jazz music playing in the background, and bouncing his cane off the toes of his sneakers. His cellphone lay on the coffee table nearby.

All evidence accumulated up to this point indicated that she was still very much interested in him. That was plain to see, in fact. The glances, the brief moments of physical contact, even her actual words.

She had said she would be there when he was ready to talk, and she didn't simply mean when his throat had healed.

Discussing his feelings wasn't his strong suit; indeed, he endeavored to ensure it was something he never did, so actually talking to her was for the moment out of the question. Because... he just wasn't used to it. Because he was unsure how. Because -

_I'm a coward_, he thought, and gave a small sigh. That was another analysis which bore no argument.

But he had done the next best thing; he had written her a letter. He frowned, trying to remember the last time he had written any kind of letter for non-work purposes. Nothing came.

So, he had made some kind of move, at least. Only time would tell what her response would be. He felt an unwelcome stirring of nervousness in his stomach.

He closed his eyes, resolving to at least attempt not to enumerate her possible reactions until he knew more. It wasn't yet 10 pm, and yet he was exhausted.

As the minutes ticked by, the bouncing of his cane slowed and became less energetic. By the time a further ten minutes had passed, he was asleep.

* * *

Cameron set the glass of wine down on the coffee table, keeping it almost the full width of the table away from the letter, and took a deep breath. 

She picked up the envelope and opened it. The flap was simply tucked in; it was not sealed. She wasn't surprised; she couldn't quite picture House licking an envelope. She smiled when she saw that the paper inside was from a yellow legal pad, no doubt the same one he'd been using for two days now. She removed the letter and pushed the envelope away.

She consciously willed her heart to return to its normal pace, and she glanced over at her glass of wine. She had only had one sip, but right now the idea of drinking it was nauseating.

_Please let this be ok,_ she thought, though she wasn't entirely sure what she meant by it.

She took a final deep breath, unfolded the yellow paper, and began reading.

"_Cameron,_

_I'm not a letter writing kind of guy, but Steve McQueen suggested it and he's usually on the money._"

She grinned. Apparently House's pet rat had been the one to think a letter was a good idea.

"Thanks, Steve," she said, and read on. Her smile faded as she read the next line.

"_I have a list of reasons this wouldn't work. Good reasons._

_1. Personality (mine)._

_2. Age gap._

_3. You work for me._

_4. We tried dating - it didn't work out._

_5. You want to fix me, but I don't want to be fixed._"

She read the list in a state of shock. She had been so sure that things had changed. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she read on regardless.

"_Thing is, the list doesn't seem like the whole story anymore._

_Doesn't seem like 2 and 3 are a problem for you - me either - and 4 was my fault._

_If you can live with 1 and 5, we can talk about this. What happens next?_

_House_

_P.S. I asked Steve to read this over, but he tried to eat it. Hope that wasn't his editorial opinion._"

She was crying now, but not unhappy. She reached for her cellphone to call him, and then she stopped.

_He'd hiding away_, she realized. It had been clear from his facial expression and behavior when he had been there a short while ago; this was uncharted territory for him, and however much he might want it, he was also afraid of what was happening.

_This is about as vulnerable as he's been since... since the leg_, she thought, and put the cellphone down on the coffee table.

To suddenly call him right now would only make him retreat, and a phonecall seemed somehow wrong anyway. She desperately wanted to speak to him face to face, but that would certainly be even more jarring for him.

The letter didn't change the fact that he had boundaries, and his defenses would all be up right now.

She sighed. She didn't want to just sit here and do nothing, not _now_, that would be unbearable. She glanced back at the letter, and it was suddenly clear - painfully obvious, in fact - what she would do.

She got up and hurriedly went towards the door, detouring at the last minute to the small chest of drawers nearby. She opened the top one, rummaged around for a moment and then withdrew a pack of writing paper, a pen, and a light blue envelope. She returned to the couch and set the items down in front of her.

She would reply. What she would write, she wasn't quite sure of yet, but she was compelled to start. She glanced at the clock, and it was already getting late, but she didn't care. She would finish this tonight no mater how long it took.

She learned forward, taking the pen in her hand, and took a deep breath. After only the briefest pause, she began to write.

* * *

House woke up to a deep ache in his right leg, and clumsily shifted his weight. He was momentarily unsure what day it was, but the gloom of the apartment, lit only by a single lamp, and the several crumpled sheets of yellow paper strewn across the coffee table and nearby parts of the floor quickly brought him fully awake. 

He sat up too quickly, and his leg testily launched a bolt of glassy pain in protest. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, pulling himself to his feet with some difficulty. The clock on the wall indicated it was after 11 pm.

He grabbed his cane and shuffled over to where his jacket lay on the floor just inside the door, reaching for it. It had dried now, but he didn't register the fact; his goal was his cellphone in the inside right pocket.

Flipping the phone open, he frowned as he saw no indication of any new messages or calls. He glanced around at his answering machine, but its darkened display silently concurred with the newer, smaller device.

He stood perfectly still, listening carefully, as if by simply wondering where she was, Cameron's footsteps would come into earshot heading for his front door. The night remained as silent as it ever could be in the city.

_It wasn't exactly War and Peace_, he thought.

She had read it, most certainly. Probably the very moment he'd left, which would have taken all of a few minutes, including a re-read. But she hadn't called.

_Because I didn't want her to call_, he realized, and then nodded. She knew him well enough by now; he'd probably never been more in need of some time to himself since she first came to work for him. And she understood that.

_So what's she up to?_ he wondered, but that was a pointless question.

She needed time as much he did; she was obviously thinking about things. Weighing up pros and cons, balancing the books. Making decisions.

He expected to feel an icy twist of nervousness at that idea, but none came. Instead, there was only an abiding calmness which was almost eerie, if not actually surprising. His mind was insulating him from what might happen; allowing him to feel like he didn't care one way or the other.

"Which only happens if you do care," he said aloud to the darkened apartment.

He stood in silence for several minutes, a jumble of thoughts passing through his mind, and then shook his head. There was no conclusion to be reached here tonight; it was simply her move now.

He picked up the cellphone and put it into the pocket of his jeans, swallowed a single Vicodin, and limped across the living room towards the corridor leading to the rear of the apartment. In situations like this, often the only sane thing to do was try to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**One more chapter before the weekend; sorry to leave folks hanging for the last few days. Not much else to say about this one; just taking things slowly, but hopefully it'll please some of you. Remember to let me know what you think - there's nothing better than seeing a new review alert in my inbox!**

**Cheers,  
-RGB**

* * *

House glanced at his wristwatch briefly as the elevator doors opened. It was 9:37 am, which was earlier than he usually arrived, but he couldn't stand hanging around his apartment any longer. 

He walked straight down the corridor, passing by the conference room door and going directly into his office. He did not glance through into the other room, but after listening for a few moments as he took off his rucksack and jacket, he ascertained that all three of his staff were there.

His computer, as always, was already on, his emails sorted and mostly taken care of. He paged through the remaining messages anyway, wanting to seem occupied.

Only a minute or so had passed before he heard the door to the conference room open behind him. He did not look up or make any comment as he heard her footsteps approach. He could hear Chase and Foreman engaged in an impassioned debate about the answer to a clue in the crossword Chase was working on.

"Hi," Cameron said, and he hesitated for only the briefest moment before looking up at her.

"Morning," he replied, moving his arm to allow her to set his steaming coffee mug down on the desk. His voice was back to normal.

She gave him a small smile, and the side of his mouth twitched in response. She could see that he was unsure what to think.

She glanced briefly over her shoulder, ascertaining that Chase and Foreman weren't paying them any attention, then her hand slid into her lab coat pocket and took out an envelope. She handed it to him, not breaking eye contact, and he slowly raised his hand and took it.

His eyes flicked downwards, but looked immediately back up as he felt her fingers touch the side of his face. It was he who now glanced through into the conference room, but the other two men were oblivious in their argument. She lowered her hand, still smiling at him, then turned and went back through to the other room. He watched her for a moment, and then pocketed the envelope.

When Cameron next dared to glance through into House's office some ten minutes later, it was empty.

* * *

The day was clear and warm, and with almost no wind. House looked out on the familiar view from the hospital roof, squinting slightly in the sunlight. 

_Here goes nothing_, he thought, carefully opening the envelope, which was stuck down.

He removed the matching light blue letter paper, inwardly remarking at how women always seemed to have things like proper writing paper just lying around, and unfolded it. He took a brief glance around the roof area to ensure he was alone, and began to read.

"_House,_

_I don't want to fix you. That probably means I'm crazy, but it's true._

_I want you to be happy, and I want to be happy too. I think maybe we can do that together if we both try._

_Your personality can be a challenge, but it's you. I wouldn't change it... much._

_What happens next is up to you._

_(Allison) Cameron x_

_P.S. Give my thanks to Steve McQueen._"

He grinned lopsidedly, folding the letter and returning it to the envelope, then put the envelope back into his pocket.

He felt somehow out of control, and the sense of standing on the edge of a precipice wasn't created solely by being on the roof of a building. He was still afraid of this, but the quality of the feeling had changed.

_I want to go and see her right now_, he thought, amused at his own reaction.

He wouldn't go and see her just yet, of course; rushing into _anything_ was foolish, and this was definitely a situation he needed to think about. But a certain point had been passed, and he knew it.

Being out of control actually felt pretty good.

* * *

It had been hours since she had seen him. The entire morning had passed without House making a reappearance in his office, nor had he been in the cafeteria when she had gone to lunch. 

She had gone through a short period of near-panic, obsessively replaying the words of her letter in her mind in case she had inadvertently offended him or given him the wrong impression. She had eventually calmed down, and was now being firm with herself that he simply needed some time, since things were beginning to move more quickly.

The likelihood of this explanation, however, hadn't stopped her nervously glancing up every time she heard footsteps outside the conference room, and she had eventually decided to once again busy herself in Immunology.

It was now just past 3 pm, and she was in the lab running some gels. Foreman had dropped by twenty minutes before, but only to pick up some results, and she had last seen Chase at lunchtime. She was alone, and was managing to think only of her task until she heard the lab door opening behind her.

She somehow knew it was him. She hadn't heard his approach, nor could she hear his breathing (which she knew well), nor smell his characteristic smell of coffee and linen and deodorant and something else which was uniquely him (which she somehow knew even better), but nevertheless there was no question who had just entered the room.

House watched her slowly turn around and look at him, his uncertainty momentarily occluded by the fascination she always inspired in him. She gave a tentative smile, but her gaze was steady. Whatever he would say to her, she gave every impression of being prepared for it.

_But she's as nervous as I am_, he thought, both amused and grateful for the fact of it.

She raised an eyebrow slightly after he had been regarding her silently for several seconds, and he gave a small self-conscious laugh and looked down at his feet, tapping his cane rhythmically on the floor. He looked up after another moment, the barest grin on his face.

She grinned back, flushing slightly.

"Is this the part where I ask you to the prom?" he quipped, still tapping the cane and somehow managing to frown and grin at the same time, and she walked over to stand in front of him.

"Didn't know the hospital had a prom," she replied, gently putting her hand on top of his to stop the cane bouncing.

He glanced briefly down at her hand and then met her gaze again. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks still had a lingering blush of soft pink. A lock of her hair had tumbled down and was hanging partly over her right eye, and he raised his free hand to brush it aside, allowing his fingers to caress her cheek.

Her eyes closed involuntarily for the briefest moment, and she turned her face towards his touch. They stood like that for a long moment, and when he finally lowered his hand, she immediately missed the warmth of his skin against hers.

"So," she said, smiling up at him, "what _does_ happen now?"

The corner of his mouth twitched into a grin.

"Now?" he asked, feigning surprise. "_Now_ we do our jobs. Doctor stuff. Which for you means whatever you were doing here, and for me means playing _Super Mario Brothers_ in Exam Room 3."

She grinned, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head - _Oh really?_ - and he nodded before turning away. He stopped when he was halfway towards the door, glancing back at her. Her arms were now folded, but her expression was one of amusement.

"As for _tonight_... my place at seven. Bring food," he said, again pausing briefly with a thoughtful look on his face before continuing.

"And a sincere appreciation for Steve McQueen movies."

Her smile widened. His eyes traveled slowly down over her body and back up again, then he sighed theatrically before briskly shaking his head.

"I'll see you tonight then," she said, and he nodded slowly. He seemed about to say something more, but he simply nodded once more and left.

She watched through the glass wall as he limped away down the corridor rather more energetically than usual, and she only turned back to the microscope when he had passed out of sight.

Her stomach was full of butterflies and her cheeks felt warm. She raised her hand to adjust the microscope's focus, and found that she was shaking slightly, but not unpleasantly so.

_I think we just started dating_, she thought.

The corridor outside the lab was quiet as usual, and no-one had passed by in some time. If anyone had nevertheless happened to be there and had looked in, they would have seen that she was smiling.

* * *

Cameron arrived outside House's apartment almost ten minutes early, with a large paper sack of Chinese food. She parked her car and went quickly up the the few front steps and into the outer hallway, and after taking a deep breath she knocked twice on the door. 

She could hear music playing from within, and then the sound of him moving across the floor. A moment later, the handle turned and the door opened.

"Hi," she smiled, holding up the sack of takeout, and he returned the smile without even being aware of it.

She was wearing lowrider jeans and a tan leather jacket, with a red v-neck fitted top emblazoned with the words "Rock Chick" in glittery gothic script. He grinned as he read it, and she pretended not to notice. Glancing down, he saw that she was also wearing a pair of open-toed white sandals with small pink flowers on top.

"The truth is always in the shoes," he said, and she laughed, stepping past him and into the apartment.

"Want a beer?" he asked, allowing the door to swing closed by itself as he turned to head through to the kitchen. "Or scotch?" he added, with a trace of a grin.

"Beer is fine," she replied, raising an eyebrow in his direction, and he shrugged.

She put the takeout food down on the coffee table, which was seemingly where they were to eat; plates and cutlery were already set out, as was House's glass of scotch. She heard a rustling sound, and turned around to see House's rat in his cage on top of a short bookcase at the side of the room.

She wasn't especially fond of rats, but she could tolerate them when they were in cages. Also, this one didn't really seem like a _rat_; it was really more of a pet. She walked over, and the small creature glanced disinterestedly at her before continuing to gnaw on a toilet roll tube.

"Hi Steve," she said, receiving no response. "Good call on the letter."

House had come back out of the kitchen with a beer, and stopped to watch her.

"You have your dad's manners, you know," she continued, oblivious to House's scrutiny.

There was something very endearing about seeing her leaning over Steve's cage, talking away to the animal. He didn't much care for being referred to as the rat's _dad_, but that was just typical Cameron; no doubt all pets were officially A Part Of The Family.

"He's shy around new people," House said, and she looked up in surprise. "He'll get used to you."

She smiled and walked over, taking the beer from his hand.

"Is that an invitation to come around more often?" she asked, innocently, and he only smirked in response.

"Food's getting cold," he said, moving over to the couch and sitting down, and she followed, once again feeling a flutter of nervousness.

House used the respective remotes to first silence the music, and then switch on his TV and DVD player as she unpacked the food and sat down.

"What are we watching?" she asked, handing a carton to him.

House gestured towards a DVD case sitting on the coffee table, and she picked it up. Its stark black-on-gray packaging simply proclaimed "_Steve McQueen as 'Bullitt'_".

He saw her read the movie's title without apparent recognition, and smirked.

"He drives almost as well as me in this," he said, and she shot him an amused but puzzled look. He only grinned and pressed the Play button on the remote by way of response.

Cameron opened a carton of chop suey and sat back on the couch as the movie began, stealing a glance in House's direction as he leaned forward to pick up a fork. He looked relaxed, and she could see a glint of boyish excitement in his eyes as he watched the opening credits.

_This is comfortable_, she thought. If things stayed like this, she thought they may well be just fine.

* * *

They had been watching the movie mostly in a comfortable silence for around an hour, the Chinese food decimated and leftovers pushed away some time ago, when House prodded her. She glanced around, but he was still looking in the direction of the TV. 

"You're about to see one of the greatest car chases ever filmed," he stated, and she nodded solemnly, despite his attention being focused elsewhere.

The chase scene lasted for long minutes, with McQueen racing his green GT Mustang after the bad guys in their black Charger through the sloping streets of late-60s San Francisco. Cameron paid due attention, though she occasionally glanced sideways to see House's face. He was clearly utterly engrossed, even miming the movements of McQueen's steering wheel throughout.

She couldn't help but smile. Despite the pain of his leg, his somewhat grizzled appearance and his irascible manner, in unguarded moments like this he exuded a gleeful immaturity and mischievousness which was incredibly appealing. She found herself automatically drawing slightly closer to him on the couch.

The car chase finally reached its climax, as McQueen forced his quarry off the road, resulting in a spectacular (for the time) explosion and the inevitable fiery death.

"Damn right," House said, nodding in approval without a shred of sarcasm, and a small laugh escaped her. He frowned and glanced at her, raising one eyebrow.

"Drives _almost _as well as you?" she smirked, and he couldn't help but grin for a moment before adopting a serious expression with some effort. He stretched and placed his hands behind his head, seemingly pondering just how to word what he was about to say.

"Thing is, some of us are born with a skill," he began in his best lecturing voice, staring off into the middle distance. "I just happened to get more than one. It's not fair, but that's life."

She giggled, and he looked back down at her, barely containing a grin. The grin softened after a moment, however, as he really looked at her.

_She looks completely comfortable_, he thought, and it was a revelation. He tried to think of the last time he'd seen her like this.

_Monster trucks?_ his mind suggested, and that was close, but still not quite the same.

There had still been an air of nervousness to her then, and also earlier this evening, but he couldn't see it now. There was something very powerful, and yet difficult to define, in the simple realization that she could now feel so comfortable with him, here on the couch in his own apartment.

She watched him look at her, seeing his initially smug grin become something else. A small crease appeared in the center of his forehead - a sure sign he was thinking deeply about something - but a gentle smile never left his lips. His eyes slowly moved over her face and then her hair before meeting her gaze once more. Her heart beat faster in her chest for a moment, and then she smiled at him.

He saw her smile, and it lit up her entire face; even her eyes seemed to sparkle more. The familiar soundtrack of the movie faded to imperceptibility, and it seemed as if her act of smiling had also been one of enchantment, pausing every other sound and movement around them, including his own breath. For once, even his mind was quiet.

She saw his pupils dilate as they had done in the lab the week before, and only now did she blush slightly, seeing his eyes immediately flick downwards to her cheeks to catalog the change which had taken place there. She closed her eyes for just an instant, and then turned her head slightly to once again look towards the TV.

He uttered a small sigh without even noticing, and was about to reluctantly turn his attention back to the TV when she moved. In a single, smooth motion she slid over beside him, curling her legs up beside her on the couch and resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

This time it was his turn to feel his pulse at first seem to stutter, and then to increase. His head was still turned slightly towards her, and he could now smell the delicate fragrance of her hair.

_Strawberries_, he thought, and he knew with quiet certainty that the scent would now forever remind him of this moment, and of her.

He slowly lowered his arm, uncertain but unable to resist, and gently draped it around her shoulder, pulling her slightly closer to him. Her body immediately turned to lie more tightly against his, and he felt her arm snake around his waist.

He closed his eyes. Something had changed utterly. He felt his arms again break out in gooseflesh, and an image of the park briefly flashed through his mind.

He learned in that moment that he had been wrong each time he had insisted - often to Wilson, and far more often to himself - that he felt no loneliness. It had of course always been there, invisible but still dimly perceivable, and it had exacted a heavy toll.

He was not a man who cried; he in fact had very little patience or tolerance for men who did. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd shed any tears, and nor would he do so now. But he felt the same feeling nonetheless.

He could feel her warm body, small and soft and finally not at all afraid, pressed against him, and she seemed to awaken a memory in every part of him she touched. An ancient, primal and most basic of recollections; the connection found by holding another human being. The effect was an invisible tidal wave; silent, catastrophic, and wonderful. Something which had been long missing was now returned, and for this moment at least, something had been made complete.

The images of the movie flickered across the screen, but he did not see them, nor the coffee table on which he rested his injured leg, nor the food debris nearby, nor his cane across the edge of the same coffee table, nor even the intimately well-known room he sat in.

The entire world had been reduced to contain only himself and her at his side, and although it was extraordinary, his never-quiet mind had no remark to make.

He had no real idea how long they had now been sitting there, Cameron curled beside him beneath his arm; it may have been only a few seconds or it could equally have been many long minutes.

He had begun to realize that, in the final analysis, the answer was perhaps unimportant.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter; I was away for the weekend. Thanks very much indeed for the reviews of the previous chapter! I read them on my phone more than once during Saturday and Sunday. More than twice too.**

**I'm still taking things relatively slowly with the developing relationship between House and Cameron, because I think it's more believable that way. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. Don't forget to review - it's why I write. :)  
**

**All the best,  
-RGB**

* * *

Cameron tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she put the last fork into the sink, then set about pouring him another scotch. 

They had talked about inconsequential things for the best part of an hour after the movie had finished. She was completely content to listen to House's voice as he shared trivia about Steve McQueen movies and others which he considered to be the classics of American cinema.

He had at last grudgingly excused himself to go to the bathroom, and she had taken the opportunity to clear away the dinner dishes and leftovers, and to fetch another drink for each of them. Neither of them had moved at all since the car chase scene, and this would be only her second drink of the evening. And indeed her last, if she was going to be driving.

She heard him moving back through to the living room, and she picked up his scotch and the beer she had just taken from his fridge, and carried them out of the kitchen. He was already back on the couch, using the small pile of remotes to switch off the TV and resume the music which had been on when she arrived earlier.

He was skipping tracks, and she heard only fleeting, interrupted notes as he searched for something to listen to. She set his scotch down beside him, drawing a brief and absent-minded glance, and joined him on the couch.

She took a sip of beer and sat back, watching him. The tiny crease of concentration was visible on his forehead once again as he pressed buttons on the remote, and finally he found a track to his liking. It was a soft, jazz-like piece she didn't recognize, with what sounded like a saxophone playing during the introduction. He set down the remote and swallowed some of his whisky before sitting back.

"Good movie," she said, and he glanced around before nodding.

"One of the best," he replied.

He felt even more like an awkward teenager now than when they had spoken in the lab that afternoon. She was sitting only a few inches away from him, but he missed the feel of her body against him. He was amused to realize that he was pondering how to contrive to get her to return to her previous position.

_Have to find a fourteen-year-old kid to ask for tips_, he thought, and he gave a single soft laugh.

"What?" she smiled, turning to look at him and seeing he had a wry grin on his face. He only shook his head in response, and then considered her for a long moment.

"This is _ridiculous_," he said, and reached out to grasp her by the shoulders, pulling her once again into the circle of his arms.

She laughed as she lay her head against his shoulder, once again putting her arms around his waist.

"You _did_ only have to ask, you know," she grinned, and he sighed.

"Can't remember how," he said, and she knew only too well that he was at least partly serious.

"Wouldn't be your style anyway," she said, and briefly tightened her arms around him.

He once again draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him, and gently stoked the soft skin of her cheek with his other hand. She made a contented noise, and he felt her breathing deepen slightly.

They listened to the music in silence for several minutes, and she also listened to his heartbeat through his chest.

_Strong and steady_, she thought, and she was unsure whether that was simply her medical opinion.

She felt more comfortable than she had been in a long time, and she thought she would be quite happy to stay right there until the sun came up the next morning. She felt a whisper of nervousness about what would happen in the remainder of the evening, but she quickly banished it. It was a first date (sort of), and it was going better than she'd dared to hope.

Even a week ago, the idea that she would be sitting here tonight in House's arms listening to soft music would have been beyond ridiculous, and yet here they were; he was still occasionally gently stroking her cheek, and she had noticed that it was in time with the music. She smiled.

He could smell her hair again, and also her perfume - _If I can find out what brand it is, that's an easy gift_, his mind clinically interjected - and the combined effect was considerably more intoxicating than the almost untouched glass of scotch in front of him.

His mind was a blur of thoughts, and yet he was finding it incredibly difficult to actually _think_ about anything. Images and narratives swept by in the blink of an eye, affording no orderly consideration.

He tried to fasten onto the music as a framework for his thoughts; scaffolding upon which he could begin to put the images in order. Music was a thing of structure; it had key signatures and notes and a tempo, verses and choruses and scorching guitar solos, harmony and calculated dischord, both volume and duration. All measurable, all describable, and all sane. He appreciated music because music could readily be analyzed.

_Which completely misses the point_, he thought.

Music, after all, was hardly just the sum of its mechanics and composition. Music could instead be defined and characterized by its emotional impact, and at that point all bets were off. Emotional responses weren't precisely measurable, were often extremely difficult to describe, and could arguably even be outwith the blurry boundaries of sanity.

Analysis and emotion; by no means two sides of the same coin.

_Distant cousins at best_, he thought.

Analysis he was well equipped for; it was quite literally his job. But emotions... those were a rather different story. He had deliberately allowed his emotional machinery to atrophy as much as possible, and had never seen any problem with that course of action until now. The feeling of being ill-equipped and outside of his own specialty had returned, but where he expected to feel a note of anxiety, he felt only regret.

_This is something I want to do_, he knew. The question was whether or not he was in fact still capable.

He glanced down at Cameron, half expecting her to have fallen asleep, but her eyes were open, and she was clearly lost in her own thoughts. She suddenly smiled, still not having noticed that he was watching her, and the sadness he was feeling suddenly thawed and became something else; something warmer, and with hidden dimensions. Something large, but perhaps not something of which to be afraid.

He lowered his head and gently placed a kiss high on her forehead. She felt the tickle of his stubble for an instant and then the brush of his lips at her hairline, and was immediately brought back from her thoughts.

His lips stayed against her skin for a long moment, and then he lifted them away, making a soft sound. It had been gentle and without much pressure or any accompanying words, and it was a gesture of such unexpected tenderness that she immediately felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as she looked up towards him.

She met his eyes, and recognized his expression from when they had met near the park two days before. The same jumble of emotions, but for some reason they seemed clearer now. She could even distinguish some of them.

_Attraction. Fear. Lust. Regret. And... something else._

The attraction wasn't difficult to understand; they had each felt an attraction towards the other from very early in their working relationship. She had spent a long time having doubts about whether or not he actually felt anything for her, but had realized eventually that he was just holding himself back. The shade of lust in his eyes was similarly self-explanatory, and was a feeling she shared. She shivered slightly, and pushed that thought away as she had so many times before.

She frowned inwardly as she again noticed the edge of sadness in his eyes; the regret that was clearly written there. But was it regret about lost time? Or regret for having pushed her away in the past?

_Or maybe because he's going to push me away again, even though he knows he doesn't want to_, she thought, and felt a momentary thread of ice in her stomach.

She reached up and placed her palm against his rough cheek, still searching his eyes. He turned his head very slightly, subtly changing the reflections of light in his eyes, and she saw the fear there once again.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked softly, and his hand fell away from her cheek. It was several long moments before he answered.

"This," he said at last, seeing her brow crease.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, struggling to find the right words.

"I didn't think I'd be doing... _this_... again," he began, frowning and still not meeting her eyes. He paused for a long moment before continuing.

"It's too messy when it doesn't work out."

She understood. She knew that this situation was difficult for him after having kept himself isolated for so long. She also knew that it was different for him than it was for her, because of the regret she'd seen in his eyes. He had begun to allow himself to think about being with her, and he had realized that he had lost two years before he had even started.

_And he was alone for years even before that_, she thought. She gave him a small and slightly sad smile.

"But it is working out," she said softly, and he looked at her once more.

"_Tonight_ is working out," she continued, "and we'll just take it a day at a time."

He considered her words carefully. What she said was true, of course, but he was unsure whether it provided any reassurance.

_There's no reassurance to be found in these situations anyway_, he thought, but that didn't seem quite true.

He had held back for two years, yes, but she had also _waited_ for two years.

She was still smiling at him, and she sighed; it was a sound that said she understood what he was feeling, and also promised further patience as they both found their footing in this new situation. He could ask for little more.

Her face was very close to his now, and he could feel her warm breath regularly whispering across his neck.

"So there's really nothing to worry about," she said, very softly now, and her gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and then back again.

He automatically glanced down at her lips, which were now slightly parted and looked several shades redder than only a minute before.

He felt conflicting impulses; an overpowering urge to kiss her, and an equally powerful instinct to avoid taking that irreversible step just yet. The conflict lasted for less than a second.

His hand came up once again and slid through her hair, cradling the back of her head and gently pulling her towards him, and he kissed her.

She had only a moment's warning, but it was all she needed. Her fingers tangled through his hair, keeping him from moving away by even a centimeter, and she closed her eyes, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

He could still smell her perfume, and she tasted of beer and sweet and sour sauce and somehow also of the same strawberry scent he could still perceive from her hair. She returned the kiss hesitantly at first, but then much more confidently, teasing his lips with flicks of her tongue. He could feel her breathing much harder now.

She had wondered many times about how rough his stubble would feel against her face, and she now found without much surprise that she loved the slightly scratchy sensation. He tasted of the rich bitterness of whisky, the tang of beef and chili sauce, and something which was simply him. He kissed her urgently, and she could feel the weight of the restrictions he had held himself under for so long beginning to fall away.

She noted all these things only briefly, and then the thoughts evaporated. After a few moments, she was thinking of absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

Their lips only parted at last when almost ten minutes had gone by. Her cheeks were flushed, and one of her hands was still in his hair, the other on his chest. She was lying mostly on top of him on the couch now, one of his arms around her waist and his other hand cupping her right breast through the fabric of her clothes. They were both breathing hard. 

His hand slid from her breast and around to her back, and she allowed her head to fall onto his shoulder. They lay like that for a long time as their breathing slowed, enjoying the warmth of each other and thinking of nothing but wanting it to continue.

"Definitely working out," he said at last, slightly breathlessly, and she grinned against his chest before lifting her head up to look at him. He wore his trademark smirk, and she laughed.

"I'd say so," she replied, and lay there for a further minute or so before rolling off his chest and sitting up.

"Back in a minute," she smiled, and he watched as she turned and walked through towards the bathroom.

He sighed and sat up, lifting his now rather stiff right leg carefully down from the couch. He ran his fingers through his hair, smiling at how his clothes now smelled of her perfume, and took a large sip of scotch.

She returned a couple of minutes later, sitting down beside him once again and having a long drink of beer before taking a deep and contented breath and turning to face him. She reached out and took his hand in hers.

"I think this might be a good time for me to go," she said softly, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes again.

"Had a feeling you might say that," he replied, and she gave him a weak smile before continuing.

"If I stay, I think we're going to keep doing this -" she tilted her head down towards the couch they were sitting on, "- and that can only lead to one thing."

House grinned slightly, and she blushed as she continued.

"Not that I don't want to. I _do_," she said, blushing more deeply but keeping eye-contact, "but I don't want to rush this."

He nodded. He wanted her, and they both knew it, but what she was saying was unquestionably right. He was still just beginning to adjust to the idea of trying to have an actual relationship again after a long time on his own, and he appreciated the opportunity to take it slowly. Even if it meant having to wait a little longer.

"Makes sense," he said, and she searched his face to see if he truly meant it. He saw her concern, and squeezed her hand.

"You're right," he continued. "Slow is good. Until I say otherwise."

She smiled and raised an eyebrow, and he again lifted his hand to run his fingers over her cheek.

"I've wanted to sleep with you for two years; I guess I can wait a _little_ longer," he smirked, and she blushed again as her eyes flicked briefly downwards.

"Come on," she said after a long pause. "Come and see me out to my car."

* * *

They stood by her car a few minutes later, House leaning heavily on his cane after having been sitting for so long. Cameron was once again in her tan leather jacket, and her elbows where drawn in to her sides due to the cool breeze blowing down the street. She was shivering slightly. 

He took a small step forward and wrapped his free arm around her, rubbing his hand up and down her back, and he felt her arms tighten around his waist.

"Thanks," she said, leaning her head against his chest for a moment.

He rested his chin on the top of her head and tightened his arm around her for a moment before letting it fall.

"It's cold," he said. "Get yourself home safe."

She looked up at him with a small smile, and nodded.

The breeze had created patches of bright pink on her cheeks, and her hair was blowing lazily around her shoulders. As he looked down at her he saw her dual nature; she was small yet she was confident, vulnerable yet strong, she had been hurt in the past yet she was completely ready to entrust herself to him.

The streetlamps became curling sparks of fire in her eyes. He thought that he could happily just look at her for hours on end.

"You're beautiful, you know," he said. His voice was low and solemn, and only just audible.

Her face lit up, and he slowly leaned down and kissed her, once. It was not the rushed and passionate action of earlier; this time it was gentle and unhurried, and spoke more of giving than of taking. She closed her eyes for a moment, and felt her stomach flutter.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him again, and her breath caught when she saw his eyes. They were their most vivid shade of blue, despite the murky light of the streetlamps and the lateness of the hour, and she swore that she could feel the warmth of his gaze actually surrounding her.

She smiled widely at him, and then sighed contentedly before opening her car door. He stepped back to allow the door to open fully, and she let her eyes roam over his face.

"I'll see you at work," she said at last, and he could hear in her voice the additional unspoken words; _I'll miss you_.

He nodded, and she understood. She suddenly kissed her own fingertips and then pressed them against his lips for an instant, and then quickly got into her car and shut the door.

House took another couple of steps back and watched as she started the engine, switched on the headlights and smoothly pulled out from the kerb with a small wave and a smile.

He waved back, and stood until her car was out of sight, then slowly made his way back inside.

He lay back down on the couch, his glass of scotch in one hand, and bounced his cane against the floor as he listened to the music. He turned his head slightly and inhaled the lingering scent of her.

_Cameron_, he thought.

He lay there for a long time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Almost a week since the last chapter; sorry about that. I think that the number of reviews chapter 7 received is a new record for me; your thoughts are very much appreciated indeed! I check my email way too often for the first 24 hours or so after posting a new chapter, as indeed I will do when I post this. Keep them coming. :)**

**Cheers,  
-RGB**

* * *

The wall clock indicated that it was just before 10 am when House reached the door of the conference room, seeing all three of his staff already there as usual. 

He pushed the door open and went in, drawing a glance from Chase and Foreman who were sitting at the table looking through journals. Cameron, who had already been standing, made eye-contact briefly and then turned away to make his coffee. He could see that she had a small smile on her face.

"Good morning," he said, striding to the head of the table and allowing his rucksack to fall from his shoulders onto a chair with a bang.

"You're in a good mood," said Chase, frowning at the sudden disturbance to his so-far quiet morning.

"My voice has returned," House replied. "Now I can torture you verbally as well as physically."

Chase sighed and turned his attention back to the journal he was reading, and House removed his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair before limping across the room to the coffee machine where Cameron still stood.

She heard him approach, and as always he stopped very close to her. She had often thought he did it deliberately to test her reaction, and that was probably true, but she had never felt overly uncomfortable. She was not uncomfortable today either, but she did feel a shiver of nervousness running through her. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

He saw her hand shaking slightly as she lifted his red mug, now full of steaming hot coffee, off the coffee machine's drip tray and put it down beside him. He reached out quickly, before she had the chance to release her grip on the cup, and put his hand over hers.

She took a quick breath, too quiet for the others to hear, and glanced up at him. His facial expression was almost, but not quite, unreadable - there was a barest hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth, and more so in his eyes. She raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, returning the half-grin, and he released her hand.

She let go of the mug's handle, and he picked it up and quickly strode away. The other two men hadn't even looked up, and he grinned smugly as he passed through the connecting door to his office.

* * *

She had waited patiently, attending to her correspondence and completing insurance reports and case notes, for almost 40 minutes before Foreman finally left for a neurology consult. Chase had gone to the lab to check on results for a clinic patient about ten minutes before, and she was at last alone in the conference room. 

The connecting door to House's office was propped open, and she could hear his music playing quietly as she walked through. He was standing near his desk, facing towards the back wall, looking out through the large plate-glass window as he twirled his cane deftly in one hand.

She glanced briefly out into the corridor to check no-one was there, and took a few steps towards him. Hearing her footsteps now, he turned around just as she reached him.

He opened his mouth to speak - his words would have been _Couldn't stay away any longer?_ - but he didn't have time to say a single word before she grabbed his shirt lapels and kissed him. He felt her tongue brush his for an instant, and then she pulled away, taking a half step back. He reached out to grab the edge of her lab coat, but she swatted his hand away.

"That's for before, at the coffee machine," she said, and a wicked grin broke out on his face. After a moment, he nodded.

"That's fair," he said, and she laughed before glancing quickly back through into the conference room to ensure it was still empty. She lowered her voice.

"I'm assuming we're... keeping this quiet for now?" she asked, and he again nodded.

"Seems like the right thing to do," he said simply, and she gave him a small smile.

"So we should probably keep it _professional_ at work," she said coyly, stepping forward once again and placing her hands on his chest.

"Definitely," he replied, putting his free arm around her waist and wearing a smirk. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

She grinned at him. She was surprising herself with her own confident behavior; she had felt almost constant butterflies in her stomach since he had arrived at work, and the feeling was wonderful. She loved being able to be like this with him.

_She looks pleased with herself_, he thought, and he couldn't deny sharing the feeling.

He'd thought of this before, of course; kissing her here in his own office, and indeed going much further than that, but now that it was actually happening it had a different quality.

It wasn't simply a fulfilled fantasy, because there was an element he'd never considered before. The important thing wasn't what was happening _now_, but rather what could happen in the future, and the very fact that there now seemed to potentially _be_ some kind of future.

He leaned his cane against the edge of his desk and put his other arm around her, pulling her closer, and she allowed her arms to slide around his neck, resting her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating slightly faster than normal, and she was glad of it.

He was about to place a kiss on the top of her head when they both heard first Chase's voice and then Foreman's, coming down the corridor outside the office. House dropped his arms with a guilty grin and she moved away, giving him a brief smirk before walking quickly through to the conference room.

She was just in time to meet the two younger men as they came in, and she could hear that House had increased the volume of his music behind her. Foreman noticed that she looked a little flustered, and frowned.

"New case?" he asked, and she shook her head quickly.

"So what did he want?" Chase asked idly, sitting down at the conference table and Cameron felt her cheeks flush slightly.

"I was... just asking if he wanted any more coffee," she replied, and Chase shook his head.

"You've got to stop that," he said, and irritation was now clearly audible in his voice. "You can't keep pining after him; it's pathetic. There are a million better guys out there who would kill to even get a date with you."

"None in _this_ room though," she replied sharply, and Chase rolled his eyes. Only then did she realize what she'd said, and she quickly turned to Foreman.

"No offense," she said, in an apologetic tone.

"None taken," he replied, and then turned to Chase. "And you're still an idiot."

Chase made no reply, only frowning deeply as he picked up a copy of the _New England Journal of Medicine_ from the table, and Foreman simply sighed and then walked over to the coffee machine.

_Whew_, she thought. _That was a little too close_.

She went to the desk in the corner and opened her email program so she would look busy, but in truth she was thinking of anything but work.

Chase's words had hurt her more deeply than he knew, and the troubling thing was that _she_ was also surprised how much they had struck her. It wasn't simply indignation at his remark; he made such comments on a semi-regular basis. She also knew that much of the sentiment was just sour grapes and jealousy on his part.

_Pathetic. That's what he said_, she thought.

She was frowning deeply, and she was angry, though she was unsure who or what was actually the target of her anger.

Only five minutes before, it had seemed perfectly clear that keeping things quiet was the logical thing to do for now. That was still clear enough, but it wasn't quite that simple anymore. She had waited this long to be with House, and now that she was, she couldn't even take the opportunity to feel vindicated because no-one else knew about it.

_Don't let him get to you_, she thought, but it _had_ got to her. She didn't want to be the recipient of anyone's pity when by all rights she should now be telling people "_I told you so_".

She stabbed at the keyboard's Delete key with her finger to get rid of an unwanted message, and then sighed. It was too early to make anything public, but she was somehow suddenly already impatient with sneaking around.

_Damn you, Chase_, she thought, getting up and walking over to the coffee machine to try to distract herself.

She glanced over her shoulder to look through into House's office, but he was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

House had been on his way back to the elevators after filling a prescription at the pharmacy when he had bumped into Wilson. They had been chatting idly for a few minutes, the conversation mostly consisting of House playfully interrogating his friend about his feelings regarding Cuddy, when Cameron passed by carrying a fruit cup from the cafeteria. 

She saw them both standing near the nurses' station and reluctantly changed course. She didn't want company at the moment, but she should at least say hello.

_I wonder if he's told Wilson_, she thought, her stomach momentarily flip-flopping, but she could see from Wilson's face that he was none the wiser. She suddenly felt angry again, and had almost decided to simply nod to the two men and be on her way when House spoke.

"Where's mine?" he said in an exaggerated tone of hurt, indicating the fruit cup, and for reasons she couldn't quite understand, her anger boiled over.

"I got a promotion from making coffee to getting you _snacks_ too?" she snapped, and Wilson raised his eyebrows. House frowned, and she sighed in frustration and walked away.

"Oops," said Wilson after a few seconds, but House made no response.

"I'm guessing you've been torturing her again," the younger man sighed. House shot him a look, but Wilson only shrugged.

"She's still crazy about you, you know," Wilson continued. "Or just crazy; I forget the difference. You shouldn't rub her nose in it."

House was suddenly furious, and slammed the end of his cane into the ground, drawing cautious glances from several of the nursing staff. Wilson raised his arms with his palms facing outwards and tilted his head.

"That's all I'm saying," he said, and turned and walked away.

House frowned, tapping his cane rapidly against the floor. He took a step in the direction of the elevators, and then abruptly turned and limped in the direction of a vacant examination room.

He didn't feel like returning to his office just yet.

* * *

Cameron was now once again seated at her desk in the corner of the conference room, which was thankfully empty. She had returned only a few minutes ago, after spending more than fifteen minutes in the women's restroom trying to calm down. 

She had been very angry at first, but had soon calmed down enough to realize that whilst she had had a legitimate reason to be upset, House had hardly been an appropriate outlet for her anger.

_And in front of Wilson, too_, she had thought, and then the tears had begun.

She shook her head to banish the memory and took a large gulp of coffee, glancing yet again at the small clock in the corner of her computer screen. He hadn't come back to his office yet. She wished that he would, before anyone else arrived, so she would have a chance to speak to him in private.

She suddenly stood up, and then paused before sighing and slowly sitting back down again. He would have made himself almost impossible to find; she could only try to be patient and wait here for him to return.

The clock's second hand stuttered briskly around the smooth plastic of its face, and her fingernail unconsciously tapped out a matching nervous staccato against the surface of the desk as the minutes crept by.

* * *

Examination Room 4 seemed to be shrinking as House paced around it, twice catching his cane against the bottom edge of the bin which held contaminated sharps for disposal. 

He wasn't angry; he actually felt slightly guilty, if truth be told. He had heard Chase's words earlier even with his music turned up, and whilst his instinct had been to march through and at least invent a reason to berate the foppish Australian, that had not been what he had done.

Instead, he had left Cameron to deal with it herself, and indeed had left his office entirely. There had been no way to directly intervene without drawing suspicion, of course, but that was hardly an excuse. She had a right to be upset.

_She doesn't want to be pitied anymore_, he realized. That made sense. She had made little secret of her attraction to him, and it had no doubt been extremely difficult for her when he had repeatedly, and publicly, brushed her off.

He frowned, shaking his head. More guilt. He was slightly irritated by her snapping at him in front of Wilson, but another part of him was grateful for the convincing smokescreen it created.

Even so, this was clearly a secret which couldn't be viably contained for much longer; she needed the validation of being publicly acknowledged by him.

_I did this to myself_, he thought, and sighed deeply. It was true. This was a situation of his own making, and he'd better make the best of it, because there might not be another chance later.

He nodded briskly, a decision made. Knowing her, she would be hanging around the office, and would come to speak to him at the first opportunity to sort things out. So it was only fair to give her that chance sooner rather than later.

And there was also the small fact that having an argument of sorts had brought a new realization to his attention: he was actually starting to miss her.

* * *

Cameron had been lost in thought when she heard the door of House's office swing open, and his characteristic stride moving across the carpet. She immediately stood up and went through the connecting door, and he turned to look at her. 

She again felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she swallowed hard and took a breath before stepping forward.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking slightly, and he nodded.

"Me too," he said, and he saw a look of confusion pass over her face.

"I heard what Chase said," he admitted, watching her face closely. He half expected her to be angry, but she actually seemed relieved.

He took a step forward, and she quickly closed the distance between them, putting her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest once more. His hand went up to the back of her head and he stroked her hair.

"It wasn't worth getting upset about," she said, and he frowned.

"Sure it was," he replied, and she turned her head to look up at him questioningly.

"You're tired of the pity," he continued. "Rings a bell."

She looked into his eyes, and her smile was one of quiet wonder. He had a distinct knack for expressing entire conversations effortlessly in only a handful of words.

Of _course_ he knew what she was feeling. He would have known anyway, because he was brilliant and because in some ways he knew her better than she knew herself, but this particular feeling was one he was intimately familiar with. No explanation was necessary, and in that moment she loved him for it.

"It doesn't matter now," she said. "This is more important, and they'll find out eventually."

He nodded slowly, opening his mouth to say something but then closing it again without speaking. Instead, he kissed her on the forehead, and she grinned.

"Let me make it up to you," she said, and he raised an eyebrow in interest. "Come over to my place tonight and I'll cook."

"Sold," he replied, and she grinned once again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Chase's voice again coming down the corridor, and she rolled her eyes. House sighed.

"God damn it," he said, but he was smiling mischievously. They moved apart and she turned to return to the conference room as he strode purposefully out of his office in time to meet Chase and Foreman before they entered.

House gave a breezy smile, immediately drawing a suspicious frown from Foreman, and as he limped by he carefully altered the angle of his cane mid-stride so that it collided smartly with Chase's right shin, drawing a howl of pain.

"Cripple coming through!" he called out, already halfway down the corridor by the time Chase had doubled over to grasp his own aching lower leg.

Foreman snorted a laugh and went into the conference room, giving Cameron a long-suffering look, and she smiled back with an expression of perfect innocence.

* * *

House could smell dinner cooking even before he reached the door of her apartment, and his stomach grumbled in anticipation. 

The remainder of the day had been uneventful. He had cornered Wilson in his office and whiled away an hour or so pestering him relentlessly about Cuddy, until the younger man had resorted to leaving his own office in order to escape. House had returned to the conference room afterwards to find it empty.

He had spent the rest of the afternoon listening to music, and Cameron had dropped by briefly before she left to remind him to be at her apartment around seven. She had not kissed him, and he had suspected it was a deliberate tactic to ensure he'd be punctual that evening, and that he'd be thinking about her the entire time. In both respects, her plan had been an unqualified success.

He raised his cane and knocked it smartly against the door, twice, and almost immediately heard her moving across the floor inside. After a few seconds the door swung open, and he looked at her appreciatively. She was wearing a light-brown ankle-length casual skirt with some kind of embroidered floral detail down one side, and a white open-necked top with delicate frills along the neckline.

_Very feminine_, he thought, and he grinned.

"Hi," she said, pleased at his response, and smiled back at him.

He reached his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, and kissed her. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, eagerly returning the kiss, and it was almost a full minute before she pulled away to catch her breath.

"Been waiting all day for that," he said, and she laughed, ushering him inside.

"Make yourself at home," she called, returning to the kitchen, and he shrugged off his leather jacket, looking around curiously.

Not much had changed since his last extremely brief visit. There was still no TV in the living room, but there was a music system, which was currently playing a gentle soft-rock ballad performed by a female artist he didn't recognize. The treadmill was still in the corner, and the couch was the same one as before. He saw a rack of CDs and felt a strong urge to inspect her music collection, but decided instead to follow his nose.

He arrived in the kitchen just as Cameron was pouring him a drink, and he grinned once more.

"Nice choice," he said, noting that she had an apparently newly-opened bottle of the same brand of scotch as he drank at home. She smiled sweetly, handing him the glass before turning back to the toss salad she was preparing.

House took a sip of whisky and watched her as she worked. His mind suddenly pictured her doing these things in _his_ kitchen, and a strange feeling swept through him.

A small part of it was amusement at the foolishness of the image, but he also frowned. The feeling included a kind of almost superstitious dread, but it had other components which were more pleasant. His hand paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.

For the past several years, the idea of allowing someone to even have access to his personal life at all had been unthinkable. He had instinctively kept people at arm's length, with the possible exception of Wilson. Cameron had most definitely fallen into the category of those he kept as far away as possible. And yet he could now visualize her not only in his life, but even in his own home. In a _domestic_ situation.

_Scary_, he thought. He took a large swig of whisky and swallowed it, relishing the burning sensation traveling slowly down his throat and settling in the center of his chest.

Cameron glanced around at him and smiled.

"You're quiet," she said. "What are you thinking about?"

_Just thinking that the scariest thing of all is not being scared anymore_, he thought.

"Dinner," he said.

"Won't be long," she grinned.

He was about to reply when he became aware of a familiar, muffled sound coming from the living room; his cellphone was ringing in his jacket pocket. He rolled his eyes, setting the whisky down on a work surface and made his way back through from the kitchen.

The phone had stopped ringing by the time he had fished it out of his jacket, but the screen still displayed the caller's name in a box labeled "Missed Call": _Wilson_. He pressed and held the '1' key to dial his voicemail service, but the recorded message which answered indicated he had no new messages.

He shrugged, preparing to return the phone to his jacket, and after a moment's thought he switched it off entirely. If it had been important, there would have been a message. Whatever Wilson wanted could wait until tomorrow. He tucked the phone back into his jacket's inside pocket, satisfied.

"Who was it?" she asked, as he came back into the kitchen.

"Wilson," he said. "Probably just being nosy as usual."

She gave him a small smile, lifting a saucepan from the stove.

"This is pretty much ready, if you are," she said, and he nodded.

"Let's eat," he said.

* * *

It had been almost an hour since they finished dinner, but House still didn't feel like moving. They were both on her couch now, a half-full glass of wine in front of her with his third scotch beside it, and music was still playing. Cameron was curled up at his side. 

"This is nice," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

He nodded, briefly tightening his arm around her shoulders.

"Wilson would never believe it," he said, and immediately he thought of earlier that day. He waited a moment for a reply, but none came.

"So what's the plan for... at work?" he asked.

"Doctor stuff I guess," she said innocently, and he grinned.

"You know what I mean."

She sighed.

"I'm not sure," she began, shifting slightly in his arms. "I want people to know at _some_ point, but..." She trailed off, simply shrugging.

"But you don't want me to get freaked out," he said quietly, and she glanced up at him earnestly before nodding.

He thought for a long moment, a crease barely visible in the center of his forehead. She watched his face in silence.

"I'm cool with it," he said at last, and he saw her eyebrows rise.

"I didn't say I'm not freaked out too," he added, and she smiled.

"I'm sorry about today," she said, and he began to shake his head but stopped as she continued speaking. "I'm happy to wait; really I am. Besides, it's early."

"It is and it isn't," he said, and she had some idea of what he meant. They had been dancing around this for a long time now, of course, but that wasn't all that he was saying.

_He worries about lost time_, she thought. _Not just for us. For... his life._

She saw him frown, and his eyes betrayed the regret he felt. And something else, for the first time: a new and profound fear of loss.

_This is what he was running from_, she suddenly knew with complete certainty.

He looked away, knowing that at that moment his eyes no doubt offered insights best kept concealed. To be here with her was one thing - a huge thing; something he was still discovering the true dimensions of - but to let others know about it was daunting to say the least.

_And then if she... leaves_, his mind began, but the thought was never finished.

He felt her warm, sweet breath tickling his top lip for only a fraction of a second before her lips were on his. Her hands were suddenly on the sides of his face and when she opened her eyes for a moment he saw that her pupils were large and dark. He felt himself respond immediately, and pulled her tightly against him, his fingers tangling through her hair.

She somehow moved without her hands leaving his face, and she was now sitting facing him, her legs straddling his. Her skirt had rode up over her knees, but she barely noticed. She felt his other hand move downwards from the center of her back and around her waist to the side of her leg, and she pressed herself into him.

His eyes were closed but he could swear he felt her smiling slightly even as her tongue flickered across his, and then he thought of nothing at all.

It may have been seconds or minutes later when her lips left his, and he opened his eyes. She stood up, taking his hand and tugging at it. Her eyes were somehow both dark and shining, and her hair was wild. He could hear her quick breaths, and they matched his own.

He had probably never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her now, and his leg made no complaint as he stood up to follow her.

* * *

Cameron shivered slightly against his chest, and he pulled the covers up over her shoulders. The soft weight of her naked body against his was easily the second best feeling of the evening. 

"Mmmm," she purred, curling her arm more tightly around his chest.

He looked down at her as she lay there, and he smiled. Her hair was tousled and looked several shades darker in the dim light. Her eyes were closed, but he could picture the vivid green as if she was looking back at him. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, though not in embarrassment. Her lips were full and red, and she wore an involuntary smile. She looked perfectly relaxed and at peace, and he suddenly felt fiercely protective of her.

There was another feeling, too. Its general form was distantly familiar; an old feeling, remembered from a long time before. But its specific nature was new, and unique to this situation. Unique to _her_, really, and of course that was exactly how it worked.

_It's plausible that I'm falling in love with you_, he thought, and immediately grinned in amused self-awareness. Plausible, indeed. Certainly no-one could accuse him of being overly romantic.

It was difficult to believe they had finally reached this stage. It had been worth waiting for - perhaps even worth waiting three whole years for - but it had been only a thought, or a fantasy, for so long that it barely seemed real even now. His face became serious once more.

"Why did you wait for me?" he asked, his voice low and quiet, and her eyes blinked open and then focused on his.

"Way I remember it, I didn't," she replied coyly, and her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red for a few seconds. He laughed out loud, and her head bounced very slightly on his chest.

"Not what I meant," he grinned after a moment, and she raised her head up slightly to look into his eyes.

"It wasn't a deliberate choice," she said quietly. "I just... never stopped thinking about how it could be. I couldn't help it."

He smiled, and there was a hint of a smirk in it, but that was to be expected.

"Incurable romantic," he said, and she tilted her head with a smile - _I guess so_.

"Now let me sleep," she said, reaching out to the nightstand beside the bed and switching off the lamp before lowering her head onto his chest again.

"Uh..." he said, unable to see the small grin which had sprung onto her lips. "So I guess... I should be going?"

"Don't you dare," she whispered, and again tightened her arm around his chest as she drew her knee further across his thigh.

He smiled in the darkness, putting his other arm around her beneath the bedcovers. He lifted his head slightly and placed a small kiss on her forehead, and felt her return the kiss at the base of his neck.

Both his mind and body demanded sleep, and he closed his eyes. Tonight, at least, there would be no thoughts of being alone, or of time marching onwards too swiftly, or of lost opportunities and consequent regret.

His last thought before the comfortable darkness of sleep overtook him was as simple as it was powerful, and as unfamiliar as it was welcome. For perhaps the first time in more than five years, and maybe even longer, he was happy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Forgive me as I write a rather longer author's note than usual; feel free to skip down to the first break. You have my word that this trend won't continue, and I appreciate your indulgence.**

**I'm guessing that everyone has heard of "method acting", where actors prepare for a part by actually **_**doing**_** whatever it is they'll be pretending to do. Well, there's a scene in this chapter set in a bar, where several drinks are consumed, and I used the "method writing" approach - i.e. I wrote the bulk of this chapter (and indeed this note) fairly late at night with the help of my very good friend Jack Daniel (neat, of course - no ice, no water), in one long, continuous stream of prose. Whether that makes it better or worse is up to you, but it at least feels **_**true**_** to me. (And whether **_**true**_** in this context means "in-character and believable for the show" or merely "an accurate reflection of what I was feeling at the time" is naturally up for debate. As the reader, I guess you're the final judge.)**

**I just want to say once again that I truly appreciate your kind reviews - we actually topped a **_**hundred**_** after chapter eight, which is a milestone I never even remotely believed i would reach. Of course, it's not about the number of reviews, or how positive or negative they are, or even about getting reviews at all; the reason I do this is both to satisfy my compulsion to practice the craft, and also (far more importantly) to attempt to create an emotional response in the reader.**

**Whoever you are, sitting reading this in your web browser from wherever you are in the world, I've no doubt never met you and perhaps never will. As I sit here writing in the north of Edinburgh in Scotland, with rock music playing quietly so as not to wake the neighbours, my goal is just to create something that seems **_**true**_** to you, too - and this time, **_**true**_** means what we'd **_**like**_** to happen, delivered as believably as I'm capable of.**

**If I've managed to achieve that even in a small and temporary way, then I've succeeded in what I set out to do, and you genuinely need feel no pressure to leave a comment. If however you do still feel the desire to write a few words to that effect, I'll certainly be very glad indeed to read them. Validation is always a welcome thing, no matter how much you believe in the cause.**

**And if you choose not to leave a comment, but you're enjoying the story anyway? Let me offer a suggestion: write one of your own, whether you publish it or not. Fanfic has a reputation as being derivative and trite; a genre for amateur authors who either can't or **_**won't**_** come up with their own characters and settings. I don't think that's true at all. Fanfic has a lower barrier to entry, sure, but my feeling is that it's at least as valid a literary form as the mighty novel or screenplay, and I have an argument to support that somewhat bold assertion.**

**Television and movies saturate our lives, and a lot of people are worried that creativity is increasingly becoming a quality that **_**other people**_** have. When I browse fanfic, what I see is that hundreds of thousands of people have experienced a passive entertainment medium like television or cinema, and the end result is that they've been inspired to **_**write**_**. What's more, a single episode of **_**House M.D.**_** or **_**Grey's Anatomy**_** or, hell, even a **_**Pokémon**_** cartoon spawns a **_**hundred**_** pieces of original fiction. I think that's a pretty good return, especially since those works are often created by people who would never otherwise even consider writing a work of fiction if it wasn't a homework assignment which was due the next morning.**

**That's a rather powerful realisation when you think about it, and it's something that gives me hope when I switch on the news and hear of another arrest or car-bomb or nebulous threat. Am I claiming that **_**fanfic**_**, of all things, is somehow a robust and complete counter-argument to the fear and sadness that assault us all on an almost daily basis? Of course not; that's clearly a ludicrous proposition. But what I am saying is this: there's a basic, fundamental truth hidden in all this "**_**House/Cam pairing - rated M for safety! (Slight Wuddy)**_**" text that we all pore through on here, and it's a truth about optimism for the future and the fact that things maybe aren't quite as bad as they sometimes seem.**

**Draw your own conclusions, though; after all, I have the plausible deniability of it being late at night and having had a few drinks. Maybe I'll even recant all this in the cold light of morning. But I have a strong feeling that I won't, and that you'll be reading this when the chapter is published. Maybe that's an argument for publishing late at night; it's sometimes easier to write truthfully when everyone else is asleep. You can decide for yourself whether there's any metaphor to be found in that statement.**

**Oh, and just to be clear: we're certainly not done yet.**

**Cheers (this time in **_**both**_** senses),  
-Matt (RGB)**

** 23:48 (UK local time), Tuesday 7th August 2007**

* * *

An unfamiliar and immediately irritating beeping noise dragged House roughly from sleep, and he was momentarily unsure where he was or what was going on. He felt a brief pressure on his chest, and then the noise stopped, and a moment later a slender arm snaked around his waist. 

He opened his eyes to see Cameron blinking up at him, illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the curtains of her bedroom. He immediately smiled at her, and she smiled back briefly before frowning.

"It's seven-thirty," she sighed.

"You get up at seven-thirty?" he yawned, with disbelief in his voice. "I thought the power only came on at eight."

She shot him a sleepy look, curling herself around him once again. He moved his hand from her back and slid it downwards.

"Did I ever tell you you've got the most perfect ass?" he said innocently, squeezing her gently, and she laughed out loud, blushing a deep pink and burying her head in his chest.

He chuckled, and she could feel the vibration through his ribcage.

"Ok, we are _definitely_ getting up now," she said, at last pushing herself up onto her elbows but still lying mostly on top of him.

"I don't have to be at work til ten," he said in a smug voice, and she rolled her eyes.

"That may be, but _I_ have a grumpy boss who insists I'm at work before nine," she said with a wry smile. "So that means: We. Get. Up. _Now_." She punctuated each word with a small kiss, and he grinned and nodded.

"Fine," he groaned, and kissed her on the tip of her nose. She smiled and then rolled off his chest and sat up on the edge of the bed.

"I can make us breakfast if you want," she said, and he grinned.

"Sounds great," he replied. "I'll go home when you leave and meet you at work later."

She nodded and then tugged at the corner of the sheets, but he clamped his arms down on top of the portion covering him, smirking. She sighed elaborately and then shrugged before standing up.

The bedcovers slid from her waist and fell back onto the bed, leaving her once again completely naked, and he lifted himself up to a sitting position to watch appreciatively as she slowly strolled around the bed and towards the door. Her breasts bounced slightly as she walked, and his eyes also moved to catalog the smooth curves of her thighs as she went past.

"Great view," he said, and she smiled without glancing around as she left the bedroom and headed towards the bathroom.

He shook his head, still grinning. He suddenly felt an almost overpowering urge to call Wilson and boast, but he dismissed the thought immediately. It would be better to see his face when he found out at some later point.

_Not too much later_, he thought, and a plan began to form in his mind.

He glanced around the bedroom's floor, locating both his cane and his discarded boxer shorts, and threw back the covers. He could hear that she had just switched on the shower, so he had a few minutes to familiarize himself with her kitchen.

Today, he would be the one to make the coffee.

* * *

It was ever so slightly later than usual - just before 10:10 am - when House walked through the front doors of the hospital and made straight for the elevators. Rush hour traffic had made the bike ride from Cameron's apartment to his own take almost 25 minutes, and he had taken plenty of time getting showered and changed. 

It wouldn't do to arrive too early, after all; people could get suspicious.

It took less than two further minutes to arrive at the conference room, and he pushed the door open with the end of his cane before striding in.

"Good morning, loyal henchmen," he said loudly, drawing a raised eyebrow from Cameron and only bemused glances from Foreman and Chase.

He had barely reached the table when he noticed Wilson standing behind the chair at the opposite end, and he nodded a greeting to his friend.

"Where the hell have you been?" the younger man asked, drawing several curious looks.

House frowned in puzzlement, and Wilson sighed in frustration. He was about to continue when the door opened once again, and Cuddy walked in, to be greeted by silence.

"Um... don't let me interrupt. Yet." she said, wondering what was being discussed. Wilson nodded a greeting to her and then turned to address House again.

"I called you last night; got your voicemail," he said, already beginning to gesticulate. "I called back later, and your phone was switched _off_."

"Oops," House replied, taking the phone out of his pocket and switching it back on again.

"I drove over around ten, just to see what was going on, and there was _nobody home_," he said pointedly, and House grinned involuntarily.

Wilson walked towards him, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"And you're slightly late this morning, even for you," Wilson continued, before stopping a few feet away from House and folding his arms. "What gives?"

House glanced down at his own feet with a mock bashful expression for a moment, and then raised his free hand in capitulation.

"You got me," he said. "I only got home about an hour ago."

Chase's eyebrows shot up, Wilson uttered a satisfied "Aha!", Foreman gave an impression of perfect disinterest, and Cameron's expression was carefully neutral. Cuddy actually took half a step forward, eager as she was to hear the rest of whatever was going on.

"_And?_" Wilson asked, unfolding his arms and once again gesticulating, and House grinned.

_Oh god_, thought Cameron, holding her breath without being aware of it.

"Truth is," House said, "I'm seeing someone. Had a few dates over the past week. I spent last night at her place."

Wilson's mouth had fallen slightly open, and he began to grin slightly despite his annoyance at being kept in the dark.

"A _few_ dates?" he asked, incredulously. "By which you mean to say..."

"That I have a girlfriend," House finished. "Shocking, isn't it? Yet there it is."

He glanced around the room, and saw with enormous satisfaction that Foreman, Chase and Cuddy were all genuinely stunned. Cameron made eye-contact with him only briefly, seemingly with no response at all. He gave her the tiniest wink, and she returned a very subtle smile, both of which were missed by everyone else in the room.

"I'll be damned," Cuddy said. "I didn't think any woman in her right mind would want to put up with you."

House glanced pointedly at her, half-grinning at her faux pas, and Cuddy suddenly remembered that one such woman was standing at the opposite side of the room. She blushed deeply and looked away, and House had to try very hard not to laugh out loud.

"So," Cuddy hurriedly continued, "Who is she? When can we meet her, and perhaps give her a free MRI?"

House's grin now disappeared, to be replaced with his best serious face.

"Funny you should ask that," he said, and every set of eyes in the room fixed upon him.

_Oh god_, thought Cameron again.

"I'm planning to bring her to the bar down the street after work tonight," he said. "Anybody who wants to meet her is welcome to join us."

"Seriously?" asked Wilson, already burning with curiosity.

"Seriously," House replied.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Cuddy said gleefully, drawing general noises of agreement. Once again, she realized the potential awkwardness of the situation, and glanced sympathetically at Cameron, but she quickly saw that she needn't have worried about the younger woman. Cameron was grinning.

"Can't wait," Cameron said, and all the men turned to look at her. "If she can put up with _you_, she must be a real piece of work."

Wilson grinned and couldn't help but nod in agreement, and House could only stick his tongue out at her. Foreman snorted a laugh, and Chase wore what could only be described as a smug grin.

"Ok, well now that _that's_ settled, I have some admin notices for you all," Cuddy began, and the attention of everyone in the room turned towards her, with only a few brief amused glances in House's direction first.

As Cuddy began outlining the usual assorted minor changes in hospital policy and general announcements, House furtively glanced over at Cameron. She was already looking at him, and immediately raised an eyebrow in a silent question - _Are you sure you know what you're doing?_

He winked at her again by way of response, and then glanced away.

She felt her stomach flip-flop, but she was also suddenly wishing that the rest of the working day would disappear, and that it would be 5:30 pm already. It would be a long wait, but it might just turn out to be worth it.

* * *

It had indeed been an impossibly long day, but by the time 5:30 pm arrived, Cuddy and Wilson had both once again joined the three younger doctors in the conference room. Everyone already had their jackets on, and all but Cameron were sitting around the table, engaging in speculation as to who House's mystery girlfriend could be. 

Cameron pretended to be occupied with a few last-minute emails, and listened with growing amusement at the conversation. After a few minutes of this, House came through from his office, carrying his leather jacket under one arm, and all eyes turned to him.

"You're still serious about this?" Wilson asked, and House smirked.

"Yes, Jimmy," he replied. "Been looking forward to it all day."

"So are we going?" Cuddy asked. "Is she meeting us there?"

House merely smiled.

"Patience," he said. "You can all go get us a decent table. I'll meet you there shortly."

Cuddy shrugged, and they all stood up and began to gather their various belongings. House limped over to Cameron's desk in the corner, pretending to look at what was on her computer screen.

"Go with them," he said quietly. "I'll see you there in twenty minutes or so."

She nodded.

"But what are you going to say?" she whispered, and he shook his head.

"Quit worrying. I'll think of something," he replied. "Just keep me a seat beside you."

She glanced up at him and then nodded once more. She was getting very nervous about this, but she also felt a great deal of anticipation. She was excited, and she found that she was eager to get to the bar.

She stood up, and House gave her one last look and then walked back towards the door leading to his office.

"See you there," he said to no-one in particular, and returned to his own office for just long enough to switch off the lights and lock the outer door.

By the time another five minutes had passed, both rooms were empty and in darkness.

* * *

Cameron swirled the wine in her glass nervously for perhaps the tenth time since they had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, but the others were too engaged in their own conversation to notice. 

"Maybe it's Restraining Order Girl," Chase suggested, and Foreman snorted with laughter.

"It had better not be," Cuddy growled, and the smile vanished from Chase's lips immediately.

"Could it be someone from a conference?" Cuddy asked, looking towards Wilson, and he simply shrugged.

"He hasn't told me anything," he sighed. "I honestly don't have a clue."

Cuddy frowned, but Wilson noticed that she also clasped her hands together and rubbed her thumbs over each other. It was a gesture which spoke of a barely-contained eagerness and curiosity, and he allowed himself a small grin.

He was just beginning to wonder when the man of the hour would actually arrive, when Foreman spoke up.

"There he is," he said, and everyone looked around.

Cameron felt a frenzy of butterflies in her stomach, and looked around and down to the other end of the long room to see House coming through the main door from the street. He was alone.

"So where is she?" Cuddy asked, thinking aloud.

They all watched as House, with a slightly puzzled expression, looked around and eventually noticed them. He gave a cursory nod, and then continued to look around, seemingly searching for someone.

"She must already be here," Wilson said, automatically glancing around too, as if he could somehow recognize the mystery woman by sheer force of interest.

After a few moments, House shrugged and turned to walk towards the bar.

"I guess she's late," Chase observed, and there was amusement in his voice, drawing a reproachful look from both Cameron and Wilson. He blushed slightly and his eyes fell to his drink.

They all sat in silence for a minute or so before Wilson spoke up.

"Here he comes," he said, and everyone suddenly became very interested in their own drinks.

"My five favorite people," House said as he arrived at their booth, drawing a nod and a weak smile from Wilson.

Cameron scooted to the side to allow House to slide into the booth beside her, and he set his scotch down carefully in front of him. He put on an exaggerated grin and looked around the table at his co-workers.

Cuddy was looking at him intently, seemingly waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't she decided to speak.

"If you were just screwing with us all this time, House, I swear -"

"Fear not, Mistress Cuddy," he said, drawing a raised eyebrow from her. "You'll be meeting my girl tonight."

Cuddy frowned.

"So, I guess she's... running late?" she asked, and House shook his head.

Foreman laughed, and five pairs of eyes turned towards him. He was looking at House, and he was grinning.

"I think you got stood up," he said, and House raised an eyebrow, looking at the neurologist for a long and uncomfortable moment before speaking.

"On the contrary," he said. "She got here before I did."

Cameron shifted her feet nervously under the table, and took a quick sip of her wine. She was glancing between Foreman and House as they spoke.

"O-kay," Wilson began, and House looked round at his friend. "So... _where __is __she_?"

Without breaking eye-contact with Wilson, House extended his right hand to pick up his glass of scotch, and raised it to his lips, taking a large sip and then setting it down again. He released his grip on the glass, and brought his hand back towards him, resting it on the table not far from the glass.

Wilson glanced briefly down at House's hand, puzzled, and then looked back up as his friend spoke.

"She's right... here," he said, noting that everyone was focused on him. He slowly turned his hand so that his palm was facing upwards.

There was a moment of silence at the table as everyone looked at him, and Cameron took an unnoticed deep breath. She was sitting beside him to the right, and when she lifted her left hand away from her drink, no-one noticed at first. After hesitating for only a fraction of a second, she reached over towards him.

Cuddy, Wilson, Foreman and Chase watched in hypnotized fascination as she put her hand on top of his palm, and his fingers curled up to interlace with hers. She glanced up at him, her cheeks flushing slightly, and he turned his head to meet her gaze. His lips curled into a small grin, and she smiled widely as she blushed an even deeper shade of pink.

Wilson's eyes darted from their hands to House's face, to Cameron's face, and back to their hands. His mouth fell open.

"Oh," he said, sitting back slightly and pointing at them. "Oh my god!"

Cuddy's hand was frozen about two inches above the table, paused in its journey towards her wine glass. A very small, dazed smile was beginning to play around the edge of her lips.

Chase was simply stunned. His gaze bounced back and forth between Cameron and House several times before fixating on their hands clasped together.

Foreman was least surprised of all. He merely shook his head in silence, but he was smirking.

Very slowly, the tentative smile on Cuddy's lips became a full grin, and she shook her head.

"I never thought I'd see the day," she said at last, and House tilted his head slightly as if to say _Tell me about it_. Cameron simply smiled, perhaps very slightly smugly, then released his hand and instead took his arm, sliding closer to him.

"God help you," Cuddy said, looking pointedly at Cameron, but her tone was warm, and the younger woman laughed. House gave an exaggerated frown and then picked up his whiskey, this time with his left hand since his right had been claimed by Cameron.

"_Well_," Wilson said after a long pause, clearing his throat and raising his bottle of beer as he looked at his friend, "in that case I'd like to offer a toast, to Cameron hopefully not killing you even though you _frequently_ deserve it, and to you seemingly having the luck of the devil himself."

House grinned and raised his glass, and Cameron mirrored the gesture.

"And to not letting this get in the way of your work," Cuddy said warningly, raising her wine glass, to which House nodded solemnly.

"Glad you got what you wanted," Foreman said after a moment, looking at Cameron and raising his beer, "even though he's still an ass."

House glanced down at Cameron with a exaggerated look of hurt, and she simply fluttered her eyelashes at him. He then turned his attention to Chase, raising an eyebrow expectantly, and the Australian shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Uh," he began, raising his beer, "Good luck, I guess. She'll need it." There was a noticeable bitterness in his voice, and no-one was surprised.

Cameron poked House in the ribs, knowing he was about to make an unpleasant comment to the young intensivist, and he remained silent and nodded, taking a sip of his whisky. There was silence for a few moments, and then Cuddy spoke once again.

"So, Allison," she began, causing Wilson to share a look of surprise with House at her use of the younger woman's first name; "How did you _finally_ get him to open his eyes?"

Cameron smiled and opened her mouth to begin, and then frowned slightly, unsure where to start. She glanced briefly at House, but he simply nodded at her - _It's your story_ - and she thought for a moment before smiling once more.

Cuddy and Wilson both leaned forward, Wilson folding his arms on top of the table, and House grinned and shook his head at his friend.

"Well," Cameron began, "I guess it all started, as he's told me most good things do, with Led Zeppelin..."

* * *

Cameron was now on her third glass of wine, and was most definitely feeling pleasantly tipsy. They had been in the bar for just over two hours, and Chase and Foreman had left almost an hour ago. They had all ordered food from the bar earlier for the sake of convenience, and had long since finished their meal. 

The remaining four now occupied the middle two-thirds of the large, semicircular booth, with Cuddy beside Cameron in the middle. The two women were engaged in their own conversation, as were the men, leaning across the middle of the table.

"I just want to say this," Wilson said, his brow slightly shiny in testament to the four-and-a-half beers he'd already consumed, "I'm really happy for you."

He patted the table with the palm of his hand in emphasis.

"Really, really happy for you."

House grinned and nodded twice in thanks. Wilson was clearly getting drunk. House himself was on his fifth scotch, but he was something of a professional in the drinking stakes, and felt only a vague but pleasant buzz.

"Thanks, man," House replied, and Wilson gave him a rather goofy smile before frowning as if something had just occurred to him. He lifted his hand to point a finger at his friend, and leaned forward further, lowering his voice.

"Don't push her away, House," he said. "Most people don't get a second chance like this. This is _right_. It's... you just cannot afford to screw this up."

Wilson nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied he had imparted some sage advice, and took a swig of his beer.

"And you can always call me at _any time_ if you need advice," he continued, completely earnestly, and House could contain himself no longer.

He laughed out loud, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth - some genuine and some borne of alcohol - and Wilson looked comically stunned for a moment before bursting out laughing with him. The two women looked around in surprise, and this somehow only increased the humor of the situation, causing Wilson to slap the surface of the table several times as he cackled.

House watched his friend being temporarily incapacitated with drunken amusement, and he shook with laughter. He could barely remember the last time he had enjoyed the company of a group of people so much, and he glanced briefly around at Cameron, who smiled at him with shining eyes and cheeks which bore the flush of wine.

He returned the smile, and a simple yet momentous truth sprang clearly into his mind.

_I'm in love with that woman_, he thought.

His eyes widened at the realization, and though he knew it was impossible, he saw that she had picked up at least the general shape of the thought. Her gentle smile somehow softened further, and everything around them seemed to slow and to fade and to quieten until there were only her eyes looking back into his.

A communication slipped between them in only the time it took for the light of the candle in the middle of the table to reflect a hundred times in her eyes, and a thought which didn't seem to be his own nevertheless crystallized in his mind.

_And she's in love with me_.

He was only dimly aware of it on an intuitive level, but within his mind a heavy door, closed and barred for years and even now only very slightly ajar, blew apart in a silent storm of fading images and whispered thoughts. The place he had been - isolated; conflicted; damaged - suddenly became _Before_.

She watched a stream of expressions run across his face, and she knew that she was the only one who could see them. Wilson, if he was stone cold sober, could perhaps have had an inkling of the fact that something large had happened, but this perception was hers alone, because she understood that in some sense she was seeing what he himself was feeling.

The specific details were soft-edged and difficult to discern, but the nature of what she saw was more than clear enough. She watched him realize how he felt about her, and she watched him understand how she felt about him in return. And then, as simply as that, without fanfare or fireworks, it was somehow now _After_.

_I love you_, she thought, and she was unsure whether it was just the wine which made her certain that he had heard it.

She felt that she would surely cry now, but somehow this time alcohol made it less likely rather than more, and instead she simply held his gaze, knowing that he at last understood. She reached out towards him beneath the table, and felt him take her hand and squeeze it.

"I actually feel a little drunk," Wilson suddenly remarked, seemingly addressing his bottle of beer in front of him, and House reluctantly dragged his eyes away from her and towards his friend.

"No kidding," Cuddy said, and Wilson glanced at her and grinned guilelessly.

"I think I could use an orange juice," Wilson continued, and House rolled his eyes, reaching for his cane.

"And I could use another scotch," he said, glancing at the two women with a raised eyebrow - _Same again?_ - who both shook their heads. He shrugged, squeezing Cameron's hand once more before releasing it, and stood up.

"I can only carry one drink at a time," he said to his friend, tilting his head towards his cane, and Wilson nodded and got up.

Once they had both left the table and were heading towards the bar, Cuddy turned to look at Cameron, considering her for a long moment, and then she smiled before speaking.

"You love him, don't you?" she asked gently, and Cameron's eyes flicked briefly down to her wine glass before meeting Cuddy's gaze again. She returned the smile, vaguely aware that her cheeks felt warm, and after a short pause she simply nodded.

Cuddy's smile widened, and then she leaned forward and briefly hugged the younger woman. Cameron was taken by surprise for a moment, and then returned the embrace.

As Cuddy sat back once again, she put a hand on the side of Cameron's shoulder, squeezing it in a sisterly gesture.

"I'm really happy for you," she said, and Cameron nodded.

"I know," Cameron replied, smiling. "I really hope this works out."

Cuddy gave a small laugh.

"Oh I have a feeling it just might, if how he was looking at you is anything to go by," she said, picking up her wine and taking a sip.

Cameron tilted her head, grinning, and again her cheeks felt warm.

She turned her head to glance down towards the bar, and this time it was she who laughed.

"Wilson looks a little worse for wear," she grinned, and Cuddy followed her gaze.

Wilson was standing about a meter behind House, who was engaged in conversation with the bartender. The younger man's tie was pulled down level with his second button, and the top button of his shirt was undone. He was running the fingers of one hand through his hair, and his expression was one of bemused tranquility. His eyes were partly closed, and he occasionally swayed slightly.

Cuddy laughed out loud, and Cameron giggled with her for a few moments until she heard Cuddy sigh. Looking round, she saw the other woman shaking her head, though she was still smiling.

Made brave by the alcohol and the sense of near-invincibility which had come from her relationship with House now being out in the open, she spoke the thought as soon as she had it.

"You _like_ him!" she said, lowering her voice even though the two men were at the other end of the room.

Cuddy glanced towards her, startled, and opened her mouth to speak, but then simply gave her a small smile. She shrugged, wearing an expression of exaggerated innocence, and Cameron grinned.

Cuddy suddenly cleared her throat, and Cameron looked up to see House and Wilson returning. Wilson had already drained half of the glass of orange juice he held, and he slid into his side of the booth somewhat heavily. House moved with the same awkward grace as he always did, but the sparkle in his eyes gave away the fact that he was not unaffected by the whisky he'd drank.

"So what did you two talk about when we were away?" House asked, smirking in the automatic assumption that he himself had been the topic.

"Girl stuff," Cameron said innocently, and the two women wore matching grins.

* * *

It was after 10:30 pm when they finally left, having called taxis a few minutes before, but it felt much later. Cuddy had offered to share a taxi with Wilson since his hotel was only a few minutes away and more or less on her way home, and House had playfully punched Wilson on the shoulder. 

"You _dog_," he said, and Wilson blinked in puzzlement for a moment. Cuddy simply shot House a look and then took Wilson's arm, raising an eyebrow towards House as if daring him to make a further comment.

House frowned slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but Cameron dragged him towards their taxi, calling their goodnights as she did so.

They had gone to Cameron's place since it was closer, and it was barely ten minutes later when she was unlocking her apartment door and ushering him inside for the second evening in a row.

"Do you want anything?" she asked, locking the door and engaging the chain before turning to him as she took off her jacket.

"Maybe some water," he replied. "And about ten hours of sleep."

She smiled.

"Well you've got time for about eight," she said, walking towards the kitchen. "Go ahead and I'll bring your water in a minute."

He nodded, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it onto the couch, and then walked through to her bedroom. The bed was immaculately made, of course, though he couldn't remember seeing her do it that morning. He grinned.

_Tomorrow night it's my place_, he thought, sitting down on the edge of the bed and beginning to untie the laces of his Nikes.

* * *

Ten minutes later they lay together in her bed, the only light coming from the lamp on the small table just outside the door. She felt amazingly relaxed. It had been a good night, and she had to admit to having enjoyed everyone's reaction when they finally found out. 

"Pretty good evening," House murmured, and she smiled, tightening her arms around him.

"Yep," she said, and he also smiled in the darkness. "And thanks. I really wanted people to know."

"Wasn't so bad after all," he replied, feeling her nod against his chest.

"Hopefully Cuddy will be cool with me paging you for sexual favors now," he said, and she laughed out loud, jabbing a finger into his ribs.

"_Go to sleep_," she grinned, and his arms tightened around her shoulders.

He once again placed a small kiss on her forehead, and she once again returned it at the base of his neck.

_Let it always be like this_, she thought, as her mind quietened and her breathing shallowed.

Barely five minutes later, they were both asleep.


End file.
